


we are the choices we make

by EclipseWing



Series: in a yellow wood [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Allison Lydia and Derek are all main characters, Allison and Stiles are prepared to make a dubious alliance, Allison somehow ends up being a s1 Lydia in finding out about everything, Alpha Peter Hale, Dark and slightly sociopathic Stiles, Derek makes an attempt but fails, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Gen, Hunter Allison, It wasnt meant to be Stiles-centric but it kind of is, Lydia finds out early on, Minor Lydia Martin/Stiles Stilinski, Multiple POV's, Peter is a creeper basically who worms into people's heads, Peter manipulates the hell out of him, Scott and Stiles have the main plot though, Sociopathic bitch Kate, Stiles is not perfectly in character but that can be attributed to Peter and werewolves, Werewolf Scott McCall, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski, and just general manipulation and blackmail because of Peter, au S1, mainly in being turned into a werewolf, murder and killing, revenge spree
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-20 03:44:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 23
Words: 91,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2413748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EclipseWing/pseuds/EclipseWing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first major turning point changes. It's not as simple as a change in who was bitten. Maybe it would have been easier that way, if one of them was still human.</p><p>[or: in which Stiles and Scott both get bitten, and Stiles picks the alpha’s side.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Divergence

_"Are you okay?" Scott asks Liam. The full moon is approaching again, and it's only Liam's second full moon. The Deadpool is over, and they're all, miraculously, still alive. The young teenager sits in a chair by the lake house, fingers twitching with nerves as they share and discuss and make sure they've cleaned up after themselves._

_Liam nods, hesitantly. "I'm still… I still see the Berserkers but… I think that'll stop."_

_"Berserkers?" Scott and Liam turn around at Stiles' snort from the doorway. He has his arms crossed and as he leans sideways against the doorframe, his eyes flash the cold steel blue of a werewolf, unlike Liam's own golden or Scott's red, but so, so similar to Malia, Derek and Peter's own ice-blue. "What's so scary about them?" Stiles looks scornful._

_Liam nervously ducks his head to the ground, "Nothing hurt them. Nothing… it just kept coming." They were still out there, and that's another constant threat that Liam must feel._

_Stiles offers no words of comfort. He just sneers, "There are worse things to have in your head," he snaps, stepping backwards and away rather sharply._

_"There's nothing wrong," Scott grabs one of Liam's hands, "There is nothing wrong with being scared of the Berserkers."_

_He receives a shaky nod, "What did Stiles mean? What did Stiles mean about worse things to have in your head?"_

_Scott glances up at the doorway where Stiles had lingered and his gaze drifted through to the table where Stiles and Malia now sat, Lydia occasionally making a comment or two. "We mentioned the nogitsune to you." he whispered, voice dropping, "About how it was in Stiles' head. I mean… it possessed Allison, but it used Stiles. It used him like some sort of puppet. And it… it chose Stiles… for a reason. He’d already… We've told you about Peter, right? About how he came back to life by haunting Lydia?"_

_"Yeah. You told Malia too… and then he turned out to be her father…"_

_"We don't trust Peter. Because he's killed people. He was an alpha for a bit, and he killed a lot of people. Derek killed Peter, but he came back, using Lydia. The way he used her to resurrect him… it was basically like rape. He was in her head, talking to her, telling her what to do."_

_Liam's eyes are pools of horror. "That's terrible. But what… what does that have to do with Stiles? I mean… he's your beta, isn't he? You bit him..." It's something nobody talks about, the pack dynamics between the rest of them. Despite the banshee, kitsune and werecoyote not being your typical pack, they just seem to fit, while the sole werewolf who was around just… didn't. Liam hasn't asked before. He just sort of went along with it. But now..._

_Scott shakes his head, "When Peter was still an alpha; he bit both me and Stiles. We were out in the woods; looking for a dead body and he… he attacked us. Turned us into werewolves."_

_"Oh." Liam frowns, "Okay."_

_"It's not," Scott laughs bitterly, "We ended up in different packs."_

_"Is that a bad thing?" Liam frowns, because Derek isn't exactly in Scott's pack, but he helps out all the time despite being an asshole. A really smug asshole._

_"Not usually." Scott shakes his head, "But Peter was the alpha. Derek and I… we sided against what he was doing. The killing… the murders… but Stiles… he joined Peter's pack._

_"Oh," Liam stares at him. "Did Stiles know…?"_

_"Yeah," Scott interrupts, "Stiles knew. Stiles agreed. Stiles helped." he tries not to remember the time Stiles leant over him, hands deep in his intestines as he tried to reassure his friend that everything was okay. "We killed Peter." he says, weakly, "Stiles' alpha. It left Stiles omega. Neither of us joined Derek's pack and Stiles just sort of…" he waves a hand._

_"Is that why his eyes… you said blue eyes were the eyes of…"_

_"Yes." Scott says sharply. "Half of it was Stiles, deciding to join Peter. And Peter… he could help Stiles with the shift in a way we couldn't but… the rest of it… the rest of it was entirely Peter; worming his way into Stiles' head.  Even after Peter died, Stiles still acted like he could hear him there… whispering… talking to him… there is a reason we didn't want to tell Malia about her father, and a reason the nogitsune took over Stiles' so easily. Peter broke him and afterwards…. we weren't the same… but he was still with me. Still there." He looks up to where Stiles sits next to Malia, explaining math to her. He'll hear every word Scott is saying. Scott knows, and a small bitter part of him doesn't care. "We're not the same though."_

_And some part of him doubted that they ever would be again._

 

This isn't the worst plan Stiles has come up with. It's definitely the most exciting, and should keep Scott _'nothing interesting ever happens in this town'_ McCall satisfied. It's a body. A dead body. It's disgusting and gruesome and suitably horror movie-esque enough to warrant them being out here, even if there is school tomorrow.

His friend tromps through the woods behind Stiles, complaining bitterly. Leaves crunch beneath his feet and his breath smokes in the air. The forest is damp with yesterday's rain, and there is just that edge of anticipation or excitement that may be entirely in Stiles' imagination, but it still allows him to walk with a spring in his step, just in front of Scott, leading the way.

"I wanted to get some extra rest before tryouts," Scott whines, "C'mon dude, you know how important lacrosse is to me."

"Me too, buddy." Stiles lags behind half a step so that Scott can take the lead and he can fall into step behind him, reaching out one hand and patting Scott's shoulder comfortingly, "We'll make it off the bench this year as well, I promise you."

"We better!" Scott says, determined but doubtful, "I worked my ass off for this." He looks around, scanning the dark forest, while taking a puff of his inhaler.

Stiles pauses behind Scott, listening to the rasping breathing. He doesn't mind. He's spent the whole time he's known Scott having to slow down and wait for the asthmatic to catch up with him. It had been an odd balance, the hyperactive kid with wild plans and the asthmatic who had to take things slow, but it was a perfect one in Stiles' opinion. He wouldn't try to swap Scott's friendship for anything.

Scott flails slightly, breath puffing out in the cold January night. He looks cold in just a hoodie and jeans, hands shoved in his pockets and shivering slightly.

"We can go back," Stiles suggests, because they can. Scott's learnt though to just speak up when he wants something, and Stiles usually complies. "Hey, y'know, maybe you were right," he shivers himself, cold suddenly. "Wanna head baaa-" he walks into the back of Scott, and his hands find Scott's shoulders to steady himself. "What is it?" he tries to ask, but Scott's shoved his hand over Stiles' mouth and shoved him backwards, just as a flashlight sweeps across the forest.

Stiles' arms pinwheel backwards and his eyes widen because crap. That's the search team which will no doubt be led by his dad.

Scott presses himself to a tree, flattening himself down. "Uh Stiles?" he asks.

Stiles makes a muffled noise, trying to pull away. Scott realises his hand is still pressed to Stiles' mouth and pulls his hand away suddenly. "Definitely time to go?" Stiles offers up a half grin, ducking as another flashlight sweeps over the area. There is the bark of a dog and it startles him, "Come on!" he stage-whispers, throwing himself away from the search party and back into the forest.

He hears more than sees Scott take a wheeze of his inhaler before following. The dogs of the search party begin to bark and Stiles slows down half a pace to allow Scott to catch up.

Scott passes him and doesn't stop. Stiles glares at him back but speeds up running, feet pounding on the ground as he ducks through foliage. Branches claw at his clothing and the ground lurches away unexpectedly beneath him as a tree root wraps around his ankle.

He hears a sharp snap and then he's flying over and rolling along the damp ground. He hears Scott's cry of shock as he rolls over and over: earth, sky and trees merging together as he crashes down the slope.

"Stiles!"

He blinks open his eyes. His body is bruised and tired, and he can barely see the faint silhouette of his friend standing on the bank above him. The flashlight lies on the ground nearby, broken.

"You okay?" Scott grabs onto a tree branch, trying to slide down towards him. "Answer me…"

"I'm alive." he sticks one hand in the air, "Go me!" His body hurts through and there is a throb from his ankle. "I think I've broken my ankle. Definitely sprained…" he tries to move it, "Potentially broken."

"Oh my god," Scott curses, and fumbles for something. "I dropped my inhaler," his voice drifts down to Stiles, "Damn, those things are worth like eighty bucks…" there is a sudden yelp and a crash, and suddenly the forest is alive around them.

Something falls on top of Stiles, scrambling legs and sharp hooves crashing down. He curls up, trying to keep his limbs from being trampled on. He sees wide panicked eyes that catch the moonlight, sharp horns and thundering feet as they leap over him and then as quickly as they appear they're gone.

"Oh deer," Stiles says, and grins smugly at his pun. Arms pushing off against the earth he sits up, scanning the darkness for Scott. "Did you hear that, Scotty? Oh deer, because there were deer and…" he stops talking unable to see his friend's shape anywhere. He moves his leg - his left one - and there is a twinge of pain. Wincing, he uses his right leg instead to stand lopsidedly, arms outstretched to try and maintain his balance. "Scott?" he calls.

"Up here…"

He looks back up the slope to the top of the bank where there is not even a fuzzy shape. "I can't see you," Stiles squints, "You okay?" he calls.

He's suddenly aware that the woods are silent. He can't even hear the barking of dogs in the distance. He can just hear his own rasping breath.

"No," Scott's voice is strangled and Stiles limps forwards, hands grabbing for roots on the bank to help him up. "No, Stiles, I think I found the other half of the body."

Stiles' pulse races, thudding in his chest. He squints upwards, but still can't see Scott. It's pitch black, with the exception of the little bit of moonlight trickling down through the trees. "Talk to me, dude," he says, moaning in pain as he manages another pace up the hill, "I can't see you and I need encouragement while I climb out of this ditch."

"It's… it's a girl," Scott chokes out, "Oh god… I should call your dad. We should so call your dad. We should…"

The silence is unnerving. Stiles needs something, anything to fill it. "What?" he asks, "You know how long we'll be grounded if our parents find out we're out here?" He waits. Scott is silent. "Scott? You there?"

This time when Scott talks, Stiles can actually place the black object as his friend, because it's the only still think in the forest. All the bushes and trees are rustling slightly. "Stiles." Scott's voice is hesitant, uncertain. It's fearful and trembles slightly. "Stiles, I think there's something else out there…"

And that's when Stiles hears the growl, and that's when he sees the fuzzy shape of his friend fall sideways, as if his legs have been yanked out from under him.

And Stiles grits his teeth, ignoring the pain and scrambles at the bank, clawing his way up. "Scott!" he calls out, because if there is a dead body, then naturally there must be a killer and _why_ hadn't Stiles thought of that? "Scott!" the ground flattens and Stiles slides a little bit in the mud. He sees what must be Scott, limbs flying and a dark shape over him. There is a snarl, and Stiles is thinking mountain lion or rabid dog right up until he sees the humanoid shape sprawled over his friend. "Hey!" he shouts, stepping forwards, and that's when the world once again tips.

He's tripped over something (again), and he rolls over, looking back along the forest floor to see what sent him stumbling. Stiles freezes as his gaze rests on the dead eyes of a young woman.

He falls over backwards in his mad scramble to get away, but he can't help but see the dead gaze, the shocked way the face twists and the outstretched hands that end in long curving claws.

Her hands end in claws.

There is hot breath on the back of his neck and Stiles freezes. He hears his own heart racing. He hears Scott choking and gasping. He hears the rhythmic breathing as a shadow shifts over him to cover up the moonlight pouring down.

Slowly, Stiles' head turns. He gets the impression of red eyes, and has a moment for fear to overwhelm him completely, before the shape descends upon him. His hands come up to protect himself, and something sharp catches his arm and just tears. Stiles swears he can hear the flesh ripping.

He's going to die. He smells rotting breath and hears a low growl, but then suddenly there is nothing. The weight pinning him down is gone and his arm stings like hell but the thing is gone.

A dark shape looms over him and he flinches. "Dude," Scott shifts into view, pale faced and shaking. "Come on, we have to go, we have to run…"

"I can't…" Stiles only realises he's finding it hard to breath when he can't speak properly. He sucks in air, trying to calm his racing heart, and then Scott is there, tugging him up and moving. Stiles tries to keep up, but ends up half leaning on Scott. "What was that?" he wheezes, "Why'd it leave?"

"You think I know?" Scott's shaking too. "It went for my throat. I thought I was going to die!"

"It bit me," The fear is melting away, leaving only indignation and adrenaline, "It bit me."

"Yeah?" Scott laughs, "I think it tried to take a chunk out of my side. I feel like a chew toy."

"Maybe you didn’t taste nice?" Stiles suggests as they limp along.

"Maybe," Scott frowns, "But it was almost like it didn't want me dead."

"Oh yeah?" Stiles snorts, "It seemed to want me dead pretty badly. That's was terrifying. Cool, but terrifying. Dude, promise me, next time I want to look for a dead body in the woods, you're saying 'no' okay?"

"Oh trust me," Scott complains as they finally arrive at Stiles' jeep. "I'm never listening to any of your ideas again."

 

“Ugh,” Scott pulls up his top, showing off the impressive bandage to Stiles. “Do you think girls will like it?” he asks, and Stiles leans back to take in the size of the bandage.

“That thing was monstrous,” he whistled.

“Could it have been a wolf?” Scott drops his top down.

“Nah,” Stiles shakes his head, “No wolves in California for sixty years. That was just one verrry biiiig doooog-- Hello Lydia!” he grins stupidly, sentence trailing off as he spins around to the strawberry blonde that walks past, “You look… like you’re going to ignore me again.” His shoulders sag and Scott pats his friend reassuringly.

“One day,” he says, “You just have to go up there and talk to her. When she’s not with Jackson.”

“Are you scared of Jackson, Scott?” Stiles falls into line next to him as they headed into school. “Big scary, terrifying Jackson?” he sounds amused, but Scott can’t tell with Stiles. It could be scorn easily.

“Shut up,” Scott shoves Stiles’ shoulder, and Stiles actually stumbles two metres down the corridor, rubbing at his arm. “Woah, dude, I didn’t shove you that hard!”

“Yes you did!” Stiles protests, “You had like super strength.”

“You’re kidding me,” Scott rolls his eyes, “This is like the time you tried to convince me you were psychic.”

“What? No, no, would I lie to you? Don’t answer that. And you nearly sent me careening into a freshman, you owe me, so much.” Stiles rubs at his arm again, mouthing an over exaggerated ‘ow’.

Scott snorts, “You nearly got me eaten by a wild dog. Consider us even, now and forever.”

Stiles is already half way into their classroom. “Sure,” he waves a hand, “You’ll forget about that sooner or later.” He calls over his shoulder.

“Whatever,” Scott slips into the classroom, pulling out a pad of paper and a pen; pulling the syllabus towards him to look at.

A phone rings right in his ear and he jumps, looking around, startled.

_“Mom, I’m not even at school yet. Seriously, stop calling.”_

Scott looks up, because wow, just wow, that person sounds beautiful. He hasn’t even seen them. His head turns, gaze drifting around the classroom, but everyone has their heads down, making notes.

He should probably be doing that, but all he can hear is that person, talking.

_“I’m late now, I would have gotten here on time if you’d just let me drive myself. And… oh crap, I’ve forgotten a pen. Who the hell forgets a pen? What? No, no, I’ll be fine. Yes. Love you.”_

“Mr McCall,” the teacher looks up, “What’s your opinion?”

He blinks, “On what?” his head ducks slightly in embarrassment.

The teacher sighs, and she looks like she’s about to snap out an answer when the door opens and Scott is right, she is as beautiful as her voice sounds. Her eyes are a soft brown and her hair curls around her shoulder. She smiles shyly at everyone, looking down in embarrassment as she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear.

The teacher examines a piece of paper, “Take a seat. This is Allison Argent,” she says to everyone, and Scott turns as Allison slips past. She sinks into a seat right behind him and digs into her bag for paper. She chews on her lip and Scott hurries to grab his pen and offer it to her.

She blinks, focussing first on the pen, then on him, smiling at her. “Thanks,” she mouths, taking it and her shoulders slump slightly in relief. Scott wants to keep staring at her, but instead he turns back to his desk, grinning at his non-existent notes in joy.

 

“You look totally smitten,” Stiles stops besides him as Scott leans against his locker.

“Someone please tell me how she’s been here all of five minutes and is already part of Lydia’s clique.” One of the few people who actually bother to talk to them slam their locker closed as they turn around to talk to Stiles.

Stiles however flinches, hands flying to his ears and wincing. “Yee-owwch,” he shakes his head, “Don’t do that right in my ear.”

“She is so hot,” Scott admits, and he thinks they’re probably having separate conversations, and Scott’s only half paying attention because he’s listening as Jackson and Lydia play nice with the new girl.

“Wha--“ Stiles is clutching his head, and for a moment Scott’s attention wavers. Lydia grabs Allison’s hand and tugs her away, vanishing into the throng of students. “Stop shouting,” Stiles clenches his eyes closed.

“Are you okay?” Scott turns to examine his friend, who looks like the world is exploding around him.

Stiles shakes his head, and squints at Scott, “No?” he asks, and it’s more like a question, “No, I mean… I’ve just got this most awful migraine that literally just hit out of nowhere and everything is so _loud_ …”

“You don’t look so good,” Scott frowns, “You need to go to the nurse’s office?”

“But dude,” Stiles’ eyes widened, “There’s lacrosse tryouts…” a locker slams down the hallway and Stiles jumps half a mile.

“He’s right,” the girl who had been talking to Stiles says, “You really don’t look so good. Do you have a fever?”

Stiles doesn’t answer, his eyes are drifting in and out of focus.

“Stiles?” Scott grabs his arm and shakes, “Stiles, are you okay?”

His best friend startles again, wrinkling his nose, “Oh second thoughts, I should probably head home.”

“Are you okay driving?” the girl asks, as Stiles grabs his bag and - still clutching his ears - stumbles towards the door outside, “Dude, you look like you’re about to pass out.”

“m’not going to pass out.”

Scott takes a couple of steps after his friend, “I can drive you back,” he offers.

“No way. You. Lacrosse. You woo that girl, Scottie,” Stiles blinks several times in rapid succession, “I’m going to go and die at home.” Stiles waves a hand at Scott when he attempted to follow after him. “Go.” He insists, pausing only to moan and shake his head as if there was a fly buzzing around his head, “God, why is everything so damn loud?”

Scott’s smile falls as he watches Stiles stumble away, “I’ll tell Coach where you are!” he calls.

Stiles is mumbling, half-way down the stairs to the car park, “Like it matters, I’m gonna be benched anyway.”

“Dude,” Scott sighs, shaking his head, “We were totally going to be first line this year.”

Stiles snorts.

It occurs to Scott only later that they should not have been able to hear each other from over fifty metres away.

 

Stiles trips into his jeep and slams the door shut on the drumming noise in his head. It muffles it slightly, and he squeezes his eyes closed.

And what the hell is that smell? He wrinkles his nose, before burying his head into his arm that still smells faintly of Scott.

How does he even know what Scott smells like? Stiles has no clue, and he just lets his head slide down until his forehead rests on his arm. There is the soft padding of a bandage underneath, but it doesn’t hurt.

A bell rings in the school building and he flinches, the sound reverberating in his head. There are a thousand voice whispering and chatting and a loud drumming that must be his head as it threatens to explode.

He can’t focus either. He’s meant to be driving home, isn’t he? He shouldn’t be driving in the first place because he bust up his leg last night. He doesn't think it's broken though, even though he could have sworn he heard the bone snap. He had an ice pack on it for an hour and it went numb and hasn’t hurt since. He hasn’t looked at it properly, and isn’t keen to examine the mess of bruises there.

Stiles debates over calling his dad to pick him up, or waiting for Scott to finish tryouts. Another wave of _loud-noise-talking-who’sthat-heyyouwannameetupfriday-somuchhomework_ decides it for him and he just wants to get out.

Stiles isn’t sure how he manages to get home in one piece. The multiple voices fade as he heads away from school, and that’s only one relief because he should probably not be driving like this. Especially not after he misses the second green traffic light in two minutes because he’s too busy listening to the creak and jars of his jeep, trying to figure out what parts aren’t working.

A car horn behind him gets him into gear and moving again, and by the time he gets home he just wants it to go away. The noise, the sounds, the smells…

He leaves his jeep parked haphazardly across the driveway. His dad is going to chew him out for it later, but Stiles doesn’t care. He heads inside and is in his room before he realises, surrounded by comforting scents that swathe him in a blanket of safety.

There’s still a pounding in his head, and the lights are too bright and everything is just too much.

Stiles closes his eyes, curls into a ball and waits for it all to go away.

 

Scott is bouncing with energy, hopping up and down on the balls of his feet as Coach directs them to do laps around the field. “And McCall!” he shouts, before Scott can even move, “You have another asthma attack and you’re benched for the rest of the season!”

“But Coach!” Scott whines, “You can’t do that!”

Finstock waves his whistle around emphatically, “Your mother is a scary woman,” he glares, “I let you die and she’s not going to let me have children! Understood!”

“Yes, Coach.”

“Good. Now try and catch up with those idiots. Greenberg! I told you to run! Run like your non-existent girlfriends are on your heels!”

Scott spins around, jogging past where Greenberg is tying up tie up his shoe laces, and breaking into a sprint towards the other lacrosse players.

He hopes Stiles is okay, he thinks, as his feet pound on the dirt. He reaches the stragglers of the main group, waiting for his lungs to begin to close up at the expectant feeling of his asthma.

His lungs feel fine. Great even, and he sucks in clean air and runs faster.

Next to him, Danny glances sideways with a frown, “Are you on steroids?” he asks, as for a moment they run side by side.

“Just got a good night’s sleep,” Scott says, even though that’s a lie and there is a bite mark in his side. Which funnily enough, it doesn’t even hurt. He speeds up, leaving Danny behind and skidding to a stop next to Finstock. “Hey!” he says, not even breathing heavily, “So where do you want me for practise?”

Coach has his mouth open. He closes it, and turns to glare as Jackson arrives, panting. “A severe asthmatic made it before you losers! Hurry it up!” he screams helpfully. “If that's all you have to offer then first line will have to be filled with my grandmother's neighbors! And let me tell you something; my grandmother's dead.”

“What the hell, McCall?” Jackson is staring at him, and Scott just grins back. In the stands he spots Allison, and she smiles at him.

“Who is that?” she asks Lydia. Lydia turns, focussing on him.

“I don’t know who that is,” she says, and wow, Stiles is going to be so disappointed that Lydia doesn’t even know their names.

“McCall!” Coach shouts, “I want you in goal!” he thrusts a stick at Scott, “It raises morale if they can score now and again.” He confides in Scott with a low voice.

Scott feels like he’s on an adrenaline high, so he just nods and bounces to the goal, just in time to get hit in the head by a lacrosse ball.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Coach shouts out encouragement, “Go! Next person.”

He blows his whistle and another ball hurtles towards Scott. He ducks his stick a bit and waits. And waits.

Coach is staring at him with an open mouth. Scott blinks because why - oh. He stares at the lacrosse ball sitting in his net.

“He’s good,” he hears Allison say as if she was right next to him.

“Really good.” Lydia is disbelieving.

He chucks the lacrosse ball back to Coach and waits for the next one. Again he watches the throw, spins his stick around and blinks. He’s caught it again. Time just seems to slow and he can move easily and just catch it. It seems almost too easy, now that he doesn’t have to catch his breath all the time, doesn’t have to fumble for his stick and concentrate on getting air to his lungs.

It’s almost as if there is too much time as he catches another shot and then catches up to see Jackson glare at him. In the stands Lydia cheers and Allison jumps up to. Scott breaks out into a smile.

Coach is still looking at him dumbfounded.


	2. Hypersensitivity

Scott stops his bike off at the Stilinski household before work. He looks up at the large, empty house. The Sheriff is probably working, and judging by the jeep parked haphazardly across the driveway Stiles is home.

He rings the doorbell and waits a little bit before shouting, “Stiles! You in?”

There is a muffled thump from upstairs and Scott waits patiently.

It seems to take Stiles agonisingly long to make his way downstairs and when, after five minutes, there are no more noises, Scott heads around the side of the house. If Stiles can climb up his balcony and roof, then so can Scott.

It’s almost ridiculously easy to hoist himself up onto the slate patio roof and walk along to Stiles’ window. The window itself is slammed closed, but not locked, so Scott slips his nails under and inches it open before ducking down and clambering in.

Stiles’ room is dark, and Scott has a brief and losing battle with the drawn curtains. The door is shut and clothes are wedged by the gap in the door.

There is a lump on the bed that may or may not be Stiles, because it keeps shaking and letting out the occasional moan. “Stiles?” Scott asks, reaching out one hand towards what he hopes is Stiles’ shoulder and shakes gently.

“Wha?” he hears in reply, and he pries away the bed sheets from Stiles’ head. His friend looks terrible, pale skinned and dark eyed. Stiles’ hair is a mess, and for a short buzzcut that’s saying something. Stiles clutches a pillow over his head, blinking blearily at Scott. “Scott?” he asks, eyes flitting in and out of focus and his nose wrinkling. “You stink.” He says, and then proceeds to bury his nose in his duvet.

“Thanks,” Scott sighs, sitting down next to his friend, “How are you feeling?”

“Terrible.” Stiles mumbles, “I can’t focus on anything.”

“I’m going to look for my inhaler in the woods,” Scott says, “I was going to see if you want to come but…”

Stiles shakes his head, clenching his eyes closed. “It’s too loud,” he mumbles. “Your heart’s too loud. It’s like a drum.”

Scott pauses, and he focusses in on the sound of his heartbeat. It’s louder than usual, but not that loud. “Wow,” he says instead, “You’re really sick, aren’t you?”

The bed sheets move as Stiles raises his head and blinks at Scott. “You just cycled here. You’re sweaty, smell like the locker rooms, wood, pencil lead and a leaked pen, since you gave the new girl your good one. You’ve stepped in chewing gum in the last two hours and had some crappy cafeteria food that you barely ate because you still smell hungry.”

Scott stares, and he thinks he feels his mouth drop open, “I thought you went home before third period?” he is baffled, and Stiles just looks fed up.

“I did. Because everything was so loud. Everyone was talking, the teachers and their lectures and the students all chatting about dates and the formal and lacrosse and there were too many smells and everything was too bright and…” Stiles moans again, “Everything’s spinning,” he murmurs, and his head falls back into the blanket pile. This time Scott doesn’t think he’s going to manage to rescue his friend.

“You stay here and sleep off whatever bug this is,” Scott pats the pile of blankets. “I’m just going to go find my inhaler. If you find my dead body ripped up in the woods, look after my mom, will you?”

It’s a credit to how out of it Stiles is that he doesn’t even respond. Scott makes for the window, leaving it slightly open because it’s not good to be locked in like Stiles has done. Fresh air does a sick person good.

 

She’s crying. She can feel her eyes watering and her hands are shaking as she pulls the car to a stop, wrenching the door open and stumbling out into the rain.

God, she’s such an idiot. She looked away from the road for one second and…

She knocks on the door. The sign says closed but there are lights on and please, someone has to be here.

“I didn’t see it!” she blurts out as soon as the door opens, “I swear, I didn’t see it, it came out of nowhere.” No wonder her parents didn’t let her drive herself to school, she’s a mess.

“Hit what?” and she looks up at brown eyes and it’s the boy from earlier, the one who offered her a pen and has been smiling at her all day like she’s the best thing that happened to the world.

“It’s a dog, and I looked away for one second and I’m sorry, god…”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay! Do you know where you hit it so I can send animal control?”

“No, I mean… yes, I know where I hit it, but it’s…”

“It’s where?”

“It’s in my car.” Oh god, was she not meant to take it? Was she meant to leave it there? She feels bad enough about hitting it, and now she might have kidnapped it? That’s it. First week in new town and Allison had already managed to kidnap a dog.

The boy smiles at her, “Okay, that’s fine. I’ll go bring it in and I can look at it.”

His tone is calm and steady and she nods, wet hair clinging to her face. She wraps her arms around herself as she leads him to where the car is parked, crossing over two parking spaces messily and the door still open. He closes the door for her as she opens the boot, flinching away at the growling.

“It’s okay,” the boy says, “It’s just scared,” and he reaches out a hand towards the growling dog.

She’s half expecting it to bite him, but instead it whimpers and is silent, letting his hand rub through the fur.

“Thank you,” she breathes, as the boy carries the dog in and puts her - it’s a she apparently - on the table. The dog lies down there limply as Scott - that’s his name, Scott - runs his hands over her.

“I think her leg is broken,” he says, “I’ve seen my boss fix this - I can get a splint and a painkiller.” He turns just as she shivers. “I have a shirt in my bag,” he offers.

Allison shakes her head, embarrassed, “I don’t want to trouble you,” she protests, fully prepared to freeze her way home, but Scott is already turning, pulling out a thin sweatshirt and passing it to her. She gratefully accepts it and slips away to change as Scott begins to bandage the dog’s leg.

“I feel really stupid,” she admits. “I was crying and acting like a girly girl, and I’m _not_ a girly girl.” She runs a hand through her wet hair, untangling knots.

“Oh I’d freak out too,” Scott glances at her, and just that makes her smile, “And not a manly freak out, a girly sobbing heart-wrenching mess, that’s me.” He grins, and she laughs.

The dog whines and looks over to her, and it’s almost like the dog is giving her a knowing stare vibe. Allison glances up at Scott, and she’s so happy, and god, she had not planned on a boyfriend. Not like this. Not this person who just by looking at her made her feel lit up inside.

She sinks her hand into the dog’s fur against her better judgement, and the dog just lies there, and Scott’s still smiling at her, still making her feel like a warm bubble of goo.

She’s totally pathetic. She lied; she’s not tough at all.

She is the most girly girl ever and she thinks she might be in love.

 

Scott goes to sleep thinking about Allison, and he wakes up in the woods.

Cold, damp leaves dig into his back and he’s startled into full reality and full confusion. He looks around, and pulls himself up and stands, peering out from the rocky overhang he’s lying under. He and Stiles used to play there as kids, and now he’s there, half-naked, when he should be in his bed.

It’s cold, but Scott doesn’t really feel it as he stands, making his way hesitantly through the trees.

A twig cracks to one side and he pauses, turning with a frown. There is a shape through the trees, and as he steps forwards it moves with him, uncurling into a lanky, twisted shape. It looks almost like a dog, but the limbs are shaped weirdly.

He steps forwards and the thing lets out a growl, matching the step.

And Scott’s heart starts racing, and he remembers teeth and claws and fur and the shadow in the distance snarls.

Ah. Crap.

He begins walking, but for each step it matches him, and his pace speeds up until he’s running, breath heavy as he tries to get away. It bursts into a run, strange limbs moving to keep up at an easy lope and so Scott changes direction just slightly and throws himself over the fence and into deep water.

He chokes, splutters and tries to tread water. The trees wave around his head, and there’s a white bricked house and…

Scott blinks, spitting water out of his mouth as he observes a man watering plants, hose hanging loosely in his hands as he stares at Scott, open-mouthed.

“Morning,” Scott splutters.

And if wasn’t awake before, then he definitely is now.

 

“I woke up half-naked in the woods.”

“Wow,” Stiles blinks at him through blurry eyes, “That beats the top of my list of ‘weirdest shit I have ever done’ and believe me, you don’t want to know what’s at the top of my list.”

Scott peers at his friend, “Are you sure you should be at school? You feeling better?” He ducks his head to check Harris isn’t looking at them, and then looks back to see Stiles is glaring with determination at the chemistry board.

“I will be,” he mumbles, pulling a small containing out of his pocket, unscrewing it and downing the contents. Scott snatches it out of Stiles’ hands, and Stiles freezes mid-swallow, cheeks bulging.

“How many did you take?” Scott hisses, “Dude, no overdosing!”

Stiles swallows, “It’s not. I took my usual but it was like eating chalk. I think I need a new medication because that…” his finger points viciously at the bottle in Scott’s hands, “That is doing shit. I just swallowed about eleven tablets and I’m pretty sure that much Adderall should kill you, and I’m pretty sure I researched it once, but I can’t think because everyone’s breathing too loudly and their hearts are like thump thump thump in my head…” Stiles groans, clutching his head in his hands.

“I found my inhaler,” Scott informs him, “This guy turfed me off his property with it. Also, I’ve got a date with Allison.”

Stiles isn’t listening, his eyes are drifting in and out of focus.

“ _Stiles_ ,” Scott hisses.

He jerks, gaze jumping to Scott’s face.

“Wow,” Scott breathes, “It’s like your medication isn’t working at all.” He peers at the bottle in his hands.

“Lydia’s perfume smells horrible,” Stiles wrinkles his nose, “I never noticed before, but it’s like… really fake.”

Scott glances around, “Lydia isn’t even in here?” he asks, frowning, “Class hasn’t started yet.”

Stiles is still blinking, train of thought going somewhere Scott’s can’t follow. “Wait… dude on preserve?”

“He said it was private property,” Scott pointed out, clicking his fingers in front of Stiles’ face, “Pay attention. “Allison is going to the party with me Friday.”

“That’s Hale property,” Stiles says, obstinately. “But they all burned to death in a fire six years ago. Except two kids who were at school.” He pauses, “Fire was at night. Some weird nightly school event. Eight bodies. The uncle got out but is in a coma. Laura and Derek weren’t there. Younger sister missing. One was found cut up in the woods.”

Scott paused, “Cut up?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Stiles nods his head, “Wait, so how did lacrosse go?”

“Can you focus?” Scott snaps, frustrated.

Stiles winces, “God, don’t shout. Just…” he shakes his head.

“It’s elimination today,” Scott adds, more quietly, “You going to try?”

Stiles winces, “Can I claim sick?”

 

As it turns out, Stiles can claim sick. All he has to do was stand there, gaze drifting in and out of focus as he attempted to explain to coach why he wasn’t around yesterday and that he’d love to play but did you know that the principal listens to classical music? Really loudly as well, and his secretary would complain but she has a crush on him as evidenced by the pheromones and the box of chocolates she’s already got wrapped up in her desk for Valentine’s Day, but they are melting because they are too near the radiator.

Coach waves a hand, “Okay, okay, shut up. Here.” He shoves papers at Stiles, “You not playing so do something useful and help me out. You’re my personal assistant.”

Stiles staggers backwards, trying not to drop anything. “I didn’t sign up for this,” he protests, eyes darting over the paper about strategies and the various people who can play which position, “And Coach, if you don’t make Danny goalie that’s a crime.”

He gets a pen in the face for his troubles. “Make a note of people I say make first line. Don’t let me go over the allotted number of slots.”

Stiles sticks the pen in his mouth and then spits it out, because it tastes like smoke and mint and saliva. He hadn’t even known saliva had a taste, but apparently it does.

He dumps everything on the bench next to number 14 who is sitting there. “Dude,” Stiles complains, sorting stuff into piles, “You not playing?” it’s a stupid question, because the kid just stinks of bruises and hurt, “Or you hurt too?” Stiles pulls a face as plops down besides the kid, listening to Lydia’s heartbeat as she and Allison slip into the stands.

He examines the papers, and fishes in his pocket for his medication. He’s going to have to get more at this rate, and he downs the last of them, not counting how many tablets he’s swallowed.

“Is that…?”

He turns to the kid, who stops when he stares. “No,” he answers, “It’s probably not healthy, but I think my pills have been swapped out for something else because this?” he waves the bottle about, “This is doing nothing.” He flicks it away, and it lands neatly in Scott’s lacrosse net.

“Dude,” Scott complains, and he throws it back, and Stiles catches the bottle neatly in one hand. He stares, because there is no way his reflexes are that good.

“Wow,” Number 14 looks impressed. “Why aren’t you playing?”

Stiles shrugs, and only succeeds in sending paper flying everywhere. “Because I can’t focus and I have this killer migraine that hit yesterday and hasn’t gone away. Also I’m ill, because all my senses are out of whack and I can’t focus because my stupid Adderall isn’t working.” He drops the bottle into his bag.

14 looks at him as if he’s considering how infectious Stiles’ disease might be. Stiles finally remembers his name, and he pats the kid on one shoulder, noting the flinch and then shoves papers at him.

“Don’t worry, I’m not rabid.” He teases, frowning because hey - that might be a possibility but right now… “Help me organise, Isaac,” he asks, “Because I’m currently debating how much my life is worth in telling Lydia to change her perfume and also, did you know they found wolf hairs on that body in the woods? Well… half a body, I tripped over the other half and she had freaking claws…”

“Okay,” Isaac ducks his head, “Just… Stilinski, Stiles… just… stop talking? Maybe…” He was a shy thing, Stiles thought, listening to the beat beat beat of the wet, thumping heartbeat.

“Sure,” he said, distractedly. “Pen?” he held out the foul tasting piece of plastic and Isaac took it, angling his body as he began to give Stiles some of the paper that had ended up all over the bench to sort through.


	3. Rabid

Try as he might Stiles can’t shake the thought. His brain keeps cycling back to that one comment he had made to Isaac, and then in one fit of distraction he’s lost to the research.

Dogs could transfer any number of diseases through their saliva, but there were only a limited number that could pass to humans. Then there was that whole idea of biting, what with vampires and werewolves and the way people used to get infected and blame it on the supernatural. There’s a possibility and Stiles delves deeper looking at different diseases.

“Okay, so what if the dog was rabid?” Stiles poses his theory to Scott when his friend finally stops talking about lacrosse. “And it had rabies or some horrible dog disease that is killing us slowly, sending our senses out of whack before we die?”

Scott looks apprehensive. He pulls his top up, examining the bite at his side beneath its bandage, “I don’t know, man. I mean… it doesn’t even hurt anymore.”

Stiles lunges for it, “Let’s see.” And Scott pulls away. Stiles’ fingers catch in the material and with a rip it comes away in Stiles’ fingers. Scott looks like he’s about to protest, but something in Stiles’ face must stop him because he looks down at the patch of skin beneath the bite.

Scott swears.

“I know,” Stiles blinks, and the skin is still smooth, unblemished, “Well that healed fast.”

“Really fast.” Scott whispers, “I had half my side missing the other night and now it’s as if I was never even bitten.”

Stiles nods his head slowly, “New idea. Someone genetically engineered a virus that this dog transmitted to us and it gives us super senses.”

“That’s basically the plot of spider man.” Scott points out, “Except it’s like dog man. Or wolf man.”

“There are no wolves in California,” Stiles corrects, irritably. He’s barely slept at all since crawling into bed after the incident in the woods. That’s two days without sleep. No sleep for Stiles, just jumping at every single creak and whisper.

“Yeah, but what sort of dog looks like that?” Scott asks, doubtfully, and he grabs a piece of paper, trying to sketch some lanky looking thing with large legs that twist underneath it and it looks almost like a human in imitation of an animal. “That’s what I saw this morning, I swear. And it didn’t look like any breed of dog I’ve ever seen.”

Stiles grabs the piece of paper, stares at it for a few seconds and then tears it up, “That’s wolfman you idiot. You just drew a crappy werewolf drawing. We got bitten by a werewolf.” He proposes, “And now we’re werewolves too. Awwoo.”

“When did you last sleep?”

“Not since before I decided it was a good idea to look for a dead body. Have you any idea how loud the water in the pipes can be when you’re trying to sleep. And I can hear my neighbours having sex.”

Scott pulls a face, “I didn’t need to know that. I really didn’t need to know that.”

Stiles sighs, running a hand over his hair, “Maybe we should see your mom?”

“What? And tell her we were out in the woods at night?! Are you mad?!” Scott protests, “Dude, no. Look, whatever it is - we’re not dying, okay? It’s nothing bad, so we just leave it. It should go away, right? It’s just shock or hyper awareness because we got attacked and almost mauled to death by a rabid dog.”

Stiles sighs, “You’re right.” He agrees, because after the body incident he’s decided listening to Scott was probably for the best.

It’s only when he’s home already and trying to find something healthy for his dad to eat that he looks up and notices the moon in the sky. Waxing gibbous, he thinks, nearly full. Tomorrow.

And that’s also when he remembers the body, the girl cut in half and the way her hands had ended in claws.

He frowns, and he leaves dinner in the oven to grab his laptop and open it. He listens to the hum of the fan and click of electronics as it processes his search requests, sending whole webpages to the printer. Half-way through he stops because he can smell the dinner is cooked, even from his room, and he goes downstairs still in a daze to take it out, dish up some for him and the rest to be covered over for his dad and left on the tablet along with a carefully chopped salad.

Stiles cuts his finger with the chopping knife and winces, watching the bright red blood swell up. The smell is tangy and it makes his stomach swirl and for some reason he is overcome by an instinct to lick it up.

He doesn’t get the chance. He blinks and before his eyes the blood is drawn back into the cut as the skin melds back together.

He blinks. It’s unblemished, perfect. Stiles rubs his thumb over the finger, but there’s nothing wrong with it.

Feeling reckless and impulsive because his medication hasn’t worked in three days he grips the knife and slices it across the back of his palm.

He instantly regrets it. It hurts; smarts and stings and he yelps, dropping the knife. He wants to dab at it, and he does so and then flinches back because - ow. He grabs for a cloth but he’s still reaching out when the skin begins to knit together.

Oh, he thinks, stupidly. Well that’s new.

Back upstairs there is a pile of paper flowing out his printer about Lycaon and Werewolves and the Beast of Gévaudan and Wolf Packs and Stiles thinks he and Scott are so, so screwed.

 

The next morning Stiles wakes blearily and there is dirt under his fingernails and there are rips in his sheets. He doesn’t remember how they got there, knows how, but doesn’t remember…

Has he told Scott yet? He’s not even sure about that, and he needs to call Scott…

Stiles is half-way out of bed when the sounds hit him. He can hear the electricity humming from where the power to his computer is still turned on. There is a whine of the light bulb above him and a gurgling of water in the pipes. It drips and trickles and it echoes along the houses nearby. Downstairs he hears the message tone of his dad’s phone signalling he’s received a text and his dad will probably miss it because he never checks his phone and it’s on silent anyway.

Then there are the smells. Stiles can smell not only the food his dad is cooking, but the bacon roasting five houses down. There is a crash of the frying pan and the squeak of shoes on linoleum. A dog barks and its claws scratch on woodwork and a door creaks. Every single thump is audible to Stiles’ ears and it pounds down on him all at once.

He flicks his light off, and draws the curtains, closes the window. It doesn’t even muffle the sounds and Stiles finds himself sinking back into bed, pulling on his favourite hoodie and tugging the hood up and over his ears.

Go away, he murmurs in his head, Go away.

He just wants it to “Shut up,” he mouths, “Make it stop make it stop Make It STOP!”

He’s not aware he’s shouting until the door opens and his dad is looking in, and Stiles can’t see that but he knows from the scent and the sound and the rush of air whistling through the doorway. “Stiles?” his dad asks, and he’s moving forwards to grab Stiles’ hands, tugging them down from where they are clenched over his ears. “Stiles!” he says again, sharply, and Stiles relaxes, suddenly aware that he’s curled his nails so hard into his own palm that he’s drawn blood.

They’ll heal, he thinks stupidly.

“Are you okay?” his dad asks, concerned as Stiles blinks up at him in the gloom. It’s near pitch black, but Stiles can see perfectly. “You’re not sick again, are you? You didn’t eat dinner last night.”

He didn’t? Stiles remembers serving himself some, but then he got distracted by the blood and the--the--

His head swims and echoes with noise. He moans, head in his pillow. It’s like there’s a voice, whispering in his ear, tugging him and pulling him closer and Stiles shudders, skin crawling.

“Oh, son…” the Sheriff had slipped in without Stiles noticing. “I’ll call work, ask for the day off.”

Stiles half-unburies himself from the pillow, “You can’t do that,” he says, but his throat is dry so it comes out sounding like ‘Y’cn’t d’tt.”

“My son is sick,” the Sheriff says, “This is the second day you’ve spent off school in three days. I’m staying at home in case this is something serious.”

Yeah, Stiles wants to say, Lycanthropy, and no matter what he tries he can’t turn the super senses off. But he’s distracted listening to the pounding beat of his dad’s heart and he tastes blood and realises he’s probably bitten his lip.

Or not, he thinks, running his tongue over his teeth. He has fangs. The full moon hasn’t even risen yet and already Stiles is freaking out.

“I’ll get you some water,” he dad pulls away and Stiles falls back limply, hearing the thud thud thud of the wet heart and the pulse of blood and in his head something encourages him to lunge and kill kill kill and Stiles wonders where the hell he was last night.

He needs to tell Scott, he thinks, he needs to tell Scott.

He makes a grab for his phone and dials Scott.

His friend picks up. “We’re werewolves,” Stiles spits out, and that probably wasn’t the best opening line.

“Dude, what?”

“We’re…” the phone is too loud next to Stiles’ ears, “Werewolves. Bitten by a werewolf. S’only explanation and oh god make it stop.” He clenches his eyes closed as a car roars by outside but it is in his head and screaming and so so loud and…

“Are you sick again?” Scott asks, worried, “Need me to come over?”

Tonight was the full moon and something was happening but Stiles couldn’t think, remember, “No,” he grounds out, because it’s bad enough having one hot wet beating heart nearby, he couldn’t deal with another. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone. “No.” Stiles shakes his head.

“Okay, I’ll tell the teachers. See you later, dude.” And Scott hangs up. The phone squeaks in his hand and Stiles drops it, clenching his eyes closed.

There is the sound of running water and creak thump pad as his dad makes his way upstairs. Stiles listens to the thud thud thud and the soft breathing and his fingers twitch and he breathes out with him, matching his heart rate.

That’s almost calming, and he feels calm enough to look up when he dad enters to drop off the water. “You rest,” his dad says, “Sleep. You look terrible.”

“Thks,” Stiles slurs as the door closes, and sips at the water. It tastes of minerals and fluorine - they put that in the water to help teeth - and little gritty iron bits that probably shouldn’t be in there and make the whole thing taste metallic on his tongue. He drinks it though because his throat is dry as if he’s been howling all night.

Maybe he has, he thinks, he just has more sense than Scott to avoid staying out there until the next morning.

Downstairs the television has turned on and his dad is watching it. Stiles hears the crackle as the channel changes and his dad’s breathing eases. He himself lie back, room dark and head under the blankets, listening to his dad’s breathing. The heart makes him think of food and blood and hunger and so he listens to the rush of air and matches his breaths, the same way he did when he was having a panic attack.

There is a soft grumble and Stiles realises his dad’s fallen asleep, snoring even though he’d deny it emphatically afterwards.

Stiles closes his eyes and listens to the rumble, feeling it reverberate in his own chest, and he falls asleep finally listening to the sound of his dad’s snores downstairs.

 

There’s a beta.

It’s one thing Derek is aware of. He’d met the kid in the woods, the idiot looking for his inhaler. Derek tossed it at him and stalked away. The damn medicine smelt like female and the teenager who definitely no longer had asthma. His breathing was clear and easy, and his scent stunk of wolf.

Newly turned, Derek realises. And it hadn’t been Laura.

Laura was dead. Her body was ripped in half and left in the woods to be found by police men and teenage boys.

There was a new alpha in town.

Derek feels a pang of regret. He should have gone with Laura, when she had insisted on going back to Beacon Hills. But the place held memories and he had wanted to stay away. She hadn’t forced him, not the way he had forced himself when she didn’t check in.

He found her Camaro, parked outside her motel. Laura herself wasn’t there.

Laura herself was dead.

Derek had buried half of her body already, given it the honour his family proclaimed. He was grief stricken, and he didn’t know what else to do. There was no one else to turn to and all his family were now either dead or as good as.

Derek is alone. Completely and utterly alone.

But there is a new beta in town and an alpha and Derek will avenge his sister. If he needs to do so by helping the teenager and avoiding the hunters in town then so be it, he can manage that.

He lurks in the shadows of the house on the edge of the preserve, scenting the air. The wolf is here, he can smell the kid. It doesn’t take long before he spots him in the crowd of bodies.

The kid has no idea. He’s at a party of all things, dancing with a girl. An Argent, even, and Derek wants to laugh at the irony. The full moon blazes and if Scott isn’t feeling it now he will be soon.

Derek can feel it, even after all these years. It crawls up his spine and makes him want to run screaming. He remembers endless nights with the moon blazing full struggling not to give into the overwhelming lust for the hunt.

In the throng of bodies a heartbeat speeds up and Derek waits. He listens to staggered footsteps and muttered apologies as the teenager clumsily exits. At least he’s got the sense to get away from people, but it might not be enough. Derek slips into the party and pushes his way through the drunken teenagers. Nobody notices him, and by the time he’s fought his way to the front there is a car door slamming.

The engine revs and the girl stops, staring at the car that races away. Allison, Derek thinks her name is. He steps up to her and she turns and jumps, startled to find him right behind her.

“Sorry,” he smiles, trying to reassure her, “I just… Scott’s gone off, huh?”

She nods, chewing on her lip, “He just left… I hope he’s okay.”

Derek nods, as if he’s genuinely Scott’s friend, “Hey, he asked if I could give you a lift home,” his hand angles towards where the car is parked. “Do you need a ride?”

“I…” she opens her mouth and looks around, but she’s new and in a party of veritable strangers, “Thank you,” she nods, “That’d be great. I don’t really know anyone…” she glances around, looking lost.

“I’m Derek,” he introduces himself, and then heads over to his car, “Here, let me take that,” he says, reaching out for where her jacket is held loosely in one hand.

“Thanks,” she says, as he unlocks it and she climbs into the passenger seat, “Were you at the party? I don’t think I saw you?”

Thank god the Argent house is close, Derek thinks, he can’t keep making small talk for long. “Scott called.” He says with a shrug, “I live nearby.”

“Oh, okay.” Allison nods, as if that is the most interesting thing in the world and angles her head to look out the window. Her jacket sits tucked onto the back seat, and Derek has no intention of giving it back. At least not yet. This girl is like a scent beacon for the newly turned wolf and so when Scott finally gives into the moon’s pull, he’ll need everything he can use to pin the beta down.

He smiles as he pulls up the car outside the Argent house, ducking his head so as not to be seen by Victoria who is already at the door, waiting for her daughter. Derek considers how easy it would be to reach out and snag claws through her heart.

But she slips out of the car with a “thanks” and is gone, and Derek is left with a churning stomach as he shifts the car into gear and takes off for the preserve.

The woods are dark when he gets there. He’s expecting the hunters to arrive later, and that’s why he needs to find Scott, quickly.

He drapes the jacket over a tree branch and slips into the shadows to wait.

As predicted Scott comes barrelling out of the dark, eyes blazing yellow and snarling. He skids to a halt, staring at the jacket then whirling around as if he expects to see Allison standing there. He spins around in a whole circle and Derek steps forwards.

“Where is she?” Scott snarls at him, single-minded and one raging ball of anger and full moon blazing in his veins.

“Safe.” Derek steps down towards Scott, “From you.”

The jacket had been such good bait, the kid didn’t even realise it was bait and the girl wasn’t here. Love-addled, Derek realises, and that might be a problem. He throws himself through the leaf litter, trying to pin Scott down. The beta’s loud and wolfed out, instinct ruling him. Teenagers have a higher chance of surviving the bite, but they also have a harder time learning control. Derek remembers his own problems with that and he’s not going to be much help at teaching Scott. Peter taught him, and Peter is comatose.

So Derek uses his own methods. He attacks Scott and lets the beta attack him, shouting angrily. It’s not the best method, but it works, right up until the hunters show up.

He hears the arrow whistling through the trees and backs off, ducking on instinct. Scott doesn’t though and it slices cleanly through his arms and pins him to the tree. It’s a good shot, Derek notes, as he darts forwards to yank out the arrow.

“Run!” he shouts and they both leg it. The pain brings Scott back to humanity, and the darkness and forest helps them stay out of sight from the hunters. They know Derek already, but Scott should remain anonymous.

At least for now.

“Who was that?” Scott bends over, gasping.

“Hunters,” Derek says darkly, “This is why you can’t do this on your own. You need help.”

“From _you_?” Scott looks disgusted.

Derek grabs Scott’s shoulders, forcing the teen to look at him, “Scott, we’re brothers now.” He says, and it’s true, because Scott’s the only one he has now, “The bite is a gift, but it’s also a curse. You have to learn how to control it or you’re a danger to everyone around you.”

Scott glares at him, and later in hindsight Derek thinks he could have explained it all a lot better. “I’m a werewolf,” he snaps, “How is that good?”

“You have something that most people would die for!” Derek is angry suddenly. He’s never understood how people would refuse the bite. He’s always been a wolf; he’d be at loss without his extra senses. “Super hearing, your sight, your strength, everything is better. It cured your asthma, Scott, and it will keep you healthy for longer.”

“I didn’t ask for it.”

Derek pats Scott on his shoulder, “That’s why they call it a gift,” he says, and Laura always said he was snarky. “You and I,” he said, “We have to stick together.”

There was a beta, Derek knew that. He’d made sure to track him down and everything. Now Scott stands before him, glaring and looking like Derek is the worst thing that happened to him.

That was why when Scott looked up at him with confused eyes and said “But what about Stiles? He got bitten too.” Derek’s heart just dropped.

Well fuck.


	4. Bitten

“Dude, stop looking at me like that!”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re pissed at me.”

“Well yeah, you broke into my house with a guy who has now been arrested for potentially killing that girl and startled the hell out of my dad, almost giving him a heart attack.”

“We were worried you’d lost control. Did I tell you I ran out into the woods…?”

“Only a million times.”

“Well…” Scott clears his throat uncomfortably. He and Derek _had_ burst into Stiles’ house… well… climbed in through his window to find the room empty. Everything seemed quiet and when they got downstairs they had found Stiles curled up next to his dad, shivering on the sofa. His eyes had opened when they got there, a stunning gold, and then closed again with a whimper as he curled into his father as much as he could.

That had been the point the Sheriff had woken up.

“I’m grounded,” Stiles glares at Scott, “Why am I grounded? You’re the one who snuck into my house with a creepy older guy.”

“You mean Derek? God, tell me about it.” Scott groans, “He had the audacity to bite me and then to tell me I’m his brother and pack and we have to work together!! Work together to do what?!”

“He looked like he wanted to strangle me,” Stiles frowns, “But I don’t really remember…” a locker slams closed down the hall and Stiles jumps half a mile, rubbing at his ears. “Gah,” he shudders.

“Your senses still overloaded?” Scott asks.

“Derek called me hypersensitive,” Stiles curls his lip in disgust, “But mostly he just seemed to really confused as to why I wasn’t mauling anyone.”

“You didn’t look like you were in a state to be mauling anyone,” Scott says, like the good best friend that he is. “You were half buried under your dad wrapped in blankets.”

“Well apparently while you go on a blood rage and wander around looking for your girlfriend, my senses just amp up from super senses to mega I can hear everything from this part of Beacon Hills in beautiful detail from my neighbours having sex to the thousand odd heartbeats in this school.” Stiles grumbles, pulling out a pair of headphones from his bag. They’re noise cancelling.

“Can you still hear me?” Scott asks. Stiles glares at him and Scott will take that as a ‘yes’. “Well talking about Allison, I haven’t seen her since Friday.” He ignores Stiles’ groan, “Do you think she is going to kill me?”

“Just talk to her, dude,” It is weird talking to Stiles while he’s wearing headphones. His friend had put them on at the start of school and hadn’t taken them off. At the moment Scott is too busy worrying about Allison. “Seriously, say you were sick or something. Now, while you go to lacrosse, I need to go find Isaac Lahey and then go to explain to Coach what a filing cabinet is.”

Stiles wanders off, just as the bell rings and Scott’s friend flinches and changes direction so he’s not walking under the ringing metal. Scott watches him go with a sigh.

 

Stiles wishes people could lower the sound of their freaking heartbeat. Seriously. Who the hell needs a heart to beat that loudly anyway?

Thump-thud-thumpa-thump-thud is Isaac approaching. Danny’s got more of a soft bump-a-bump while Scott’s changes tempo from thud thud thud to thud thump thud thump depending on whether he’s thinking about Allison or not.

Right now it’s alternating, and so Stiles takes a deep breath and braces himself.

There is the warning drumdrumdrum of someone else as so he turns, catching Jackson with his hand outstretched towards Stiles. Recovering, Jackson sneers at Stiles, “What the hell is that thing on your head Stilinski?” he asks, louder than need be.

“Headphones,” Stiles says back, not even bothering to remove them. True, they don’t really work with his buzzcut, but he’s been considering growing his hair out anyway. Since apparently he’s now a werewolf and liable to suffer from a squashed nose and loss of eyebrows, Stiles thinks growing his hair out might improve his look to any hunters considering shooting him.

“You look like a dork,” Jackson is already thrown by Stiles’ attitude, and so he just sort of glares at Stiles and sidesteps around him. His heart beat drums threateningly, but Stiles isn’t afraid, not now he can smell the emotions rolling of Jackson like an open book. Fear, abandonment, grief, rage, in satisfaction, jealousy…

It comforts Stiles to know that he can tell what the jock’s weak spots are, and combined with what he already knows about Jackson, he can play him easily. Maybe, just maybe, he might eventually get used to the hyper senses.

He slips the headphones down until they rest around his neck and is immediately assaulted by noise. He clenches his eyes closed, trying to sort through it to what is needed.

He grabs onto the bench, tries to focus on the cool wood underneath his hand, but he honestly can't concentrate on any one thing anymore. He hears a dozen heartbeats, a dozen sets of lungs, smells twelve different kinds of shampoo and deodorant. It's cloying, and infuriating, and Stiles finds himself actually hating every person in the room. Even Scott, who has turned to look at him, eyes wide like a puppy's and brows furrowed in concern.

“Hey,” Scott drops down right beside him on the locker bench and Stiles flinches, “I saw Allison, oh my god, dude, you won’t believe it!”

“She dumped you?” Stiles asks, squinting.

“Her dad. He’s the hunter in the woods. The one who shot me.”

Stiles processes this, “Naturally,” he hums, “Argent.”

Scott stares at him blankly, “What?”

“Argent,” Stiles says, “It’s silver in French. You know all those myths about silver bullets? Well silver is actually too weak to be used as a bullet, unless it’s silver coated and even that’s pretty expensive, but a family? It makes more sense. It’s French as well and did you know the werewolf, also known as loup garou, is actually French?”

“Do you think Allison knows?” Scott asks, having not listened to a word Stiles has said. “Oh my god, what if she knows… she’ll kill me dead…”

Stiles shrugs. It’s hard enough to try to drown out the sounds around him and to try and focus. He slips the headphones back up. “She wasn’t out hunting on the full moon,” he points out.

Scott relaxes only marginally, “What if her dad finds out?” he gasps, panicked. “He’ll shoot me. He’ll shoot me. With a crossbow.” He sucks in air, almost as if he’s having an asthma attack.

Scott sure knows how to pick them, Stiles thinks, as he tries to locate Isaac with a pile of paper for Coach. He’s not sure if he’d rather be playing or if he’s actually happy being Coach’s personal assistant, but at least Isaac is useful in helping him out. He drops the headphones back around his neck to try and locate Isaac’s heartbeat, and manages to time it just as Coach blows his whistle. Hands over his ears, Stiles stumbles out to the bench, because just the scent and sound of pounding heart beats and warm bodies in the locker room is overwhelming. He can’t imagine what it would be like trying to concentrate on the lacrosse field.

Scott has an easier time. As much as he seems to hate his new powers they have been nothing but beneficial for him. He’s better at lacrosse, he has no asthma, he’s got himself the girl…

Then again, he might have got the girl anyway just from being his cute awkward self.

 

Lacrosse is a nightmare. Even sitting on the sides Stiles’ ears hurt with the sheer amount of times Coach blows his whistle.

“Take a lap, Greenberg,” he grumbles out, “Seriously! Start moving!” Stiles rubs at his ears and pulls faces while Isaac looks at him strangely. “Your turn McCall! Stop daydreaming!”

“He’s got a girlfriend,” Stiles confides with Isaac. The other boy ducks his head.

“Allison? Uh… I mean… the new girl…” he seems nervous. Stiles just ducks his head in a nod as if he can’t smell the attraction on the other boy. Because that would be weird. That would be werewolf-y, as if the super hearing wasn’t bad enough.

“What was that McCall?” Coach shouts out as Scott goes flying. Stiles’ attention focuses on the game, taking in Jackson’s smug attitude, Scott on the ground and Coach’s annoyance. “My grandmother can move fast than that. And let me tell you: my grandmother’s dead. Do you think you can move faster than a rotting corpse?”

It makes Stiles thinks of zombie movies and the dead girl whose _hands ended in claws_ and she didn’t move fast enough, couldn’t run quickly enough before something ripped her apart, be it hunters or something worse. The same something that bit into Stiles and Scott and changed them from the inside out.

“McCall’s going to do it again! McCall’s going to do it again!” Finstock taunts and that’s when Stiles feels something. It’s like a tug but it’s nothing physical. It’s the flare of scent and anger and the golden eyes on Scott’s face.

“Ow,” Isaac comments, as Scott doesn’t even bother trying to dart around Jackson, he just throws himself at full force into the jock. Stiles hears the click and grinding of bones and he wants to throw up. Jackson falls down from the force and he can hear Scott’s growl as his friend falls to his knees and lets out a ragged breath, a tenuous thread of control left.

Stiles shoves everything off his lap and towards Isaac, “I’ve gotta go… I uh… see if Scott’s…” he never finishes, up and towards his friend. He knew lacrosse was a bad idea and now he’s just got proof in the fangs that are what Scott’s canines are becoming. “Come on,” he grabs Scott by the shoulder, steering him around, “We need to get you off the field. Someone could see…”

Someone, like Derek Hale, standing and watching them.

That’s freaky, Stiles thinks, and he’d go to see Scott’s werewolf buddy but Hale pisses Scott off, and Stiles hasn’t even met the guy, the time when he broke into Stiles’ house to check he hadn’t gone on a bloodlust aside. So he meets Derek’s stony gaze and drags Scott past the bleachers towards the changing rooms.

“Get away from me!” They’re barely through the doors than Stiles is shoved away, Scott growling at him and his eyes a golden wolf yellow. Stiles falls backwards, back hitting the bench and he winces, because he’s going to have bruises. Scott - when he looks up again - is gone, leaping up to the top of the lockers. Stiles can hear the crash as he scrambles up, headphones sliding around his neck as he spins around.

“Scott!” Stiles calls out, listening to the thud-thump of his friend’s heartbeat, loud in his ears even through the headphones. He steps forwards, locating the other teenager as Scott jumps across a gap between two lockers. He spins around in time to see Scott throw himself forwards, eyes blazing yellow.

Stiles snarls. Like, actually snarls, baring his teeth. His fingers feel weird, heavier, but he’s sure of his movements as he steps backwards, avoiding Scott’s hand as he swipes across.

Scott’s hands end in claws…

Like the girl. Like the girl, oh my god, Stiles thinks. The girl was a werewolf. The girl in the woods, the body…

Scott snarls at him and Stiles feels his blood crawl in his veins. He feels Scott’s heart pounding in his head as if it is right next to him, beating with him, and he throws himself forwards.

One hand wraps around Scott’s shoulder and the other fists in his t-shirt as Stiles lifts Scott up and throws him down to the floor. Scott lands, back first and Stiles sinks to his one knee, pinning him there and growling in the back of his throat.

Scott gasps, winded and blinks, eyes switching back to brown. The hair begins to recede from his face and Stiles shifts until he’s in Scott’s field of vision.

“What…” Scott frowns, “What happened?”

Stiles tries to talk and only then is aware that his mouth has extra teeth in it. He runs his tongue over them, frowning. No extra teeth, he decides, but his two canines have sharpened into little fangs on both top and bottom jaw.

“Your eyes are glowing,” Scott hisses, “Stop it, someone will see!”

“My eyes?” Stiles laughs, feeling the bugs in his veins stop moving and the feeling fades. “What about you, leaping off the lockers? If I was human you would have ripped me into little bloody shreds, dude.” He lets go of Scott’s t-shirt and leans back, “As it is,” he sticks out a hand to help Scott up, “As it is it turns out I’m a pretty badass werewolf.” He grins, flashing his teeth and he just knows that his smile is a little fanged.

“Well I’m glad you’re happy,” Scott shoves Stiles off him; “I’m not. How am I meant to control  this?”

“Don’t get angry,” Stiles rocks back, letting Scott sit upright, “It’s your pulse, it triggers the shift.”

“But lacrosse… it’s a pretty violent game. I can’t help it.”

“There’s a simple answer. You don’t play.”

 

“How the hell am I going to tell my dad?” Stiles sighs over Skype. “How are we going to tell your mom?”

“We’re not telling my mom,” Scott shakes his head, “And dude, your dad is the Sheriff.”

Stiles nods, “Which means he might just shoot me, unless I persuade him I’m harmless, in which case he’ll shoot the Argents.”

“We can’t tell them,” Scott says. His mom just went out, and she seemed worried about him. Drugs, she’d assumed, not a mythical beast bite.

Hoe the hell was he meant to explain that?

Stiles frowns, “I know,” he says, “He wouldn’t believe me anyway. Dad, I’m a werewolf, isn’t exactly the weirdest thing he’s heard over the years.”

“How’s Jackson?”

“Why are you asking me?” Stiles looks indignant.

“Because you know everything.”

Stiles opens his mouth and then closes it, frowning, “Separated shoulder,” he shrugs, “He can’t play Saturday. Hey Derek.”

Scott’s still processing the news about the game that it takes longer than it shoulder for him to spin around. “What the…” Derek looks murderous, but Stiles doesn’t seem worried. “What are you doing…?”

“I saw you on the field.” Derek growls. “You shifted in front of them. If Stiles hadn’t got you out…”

“It was fine,” Stiles’ voice can be heard over the laptop, “It got sorted…” he sounds tense.

“He’s not playing Saturday,” Derek snaps to the screen, “Neither are you.”

“I didn’t make the team,” Stiles shrugs, “I was too busy hiding at home trying to keep the world silent. I’m Stiles, by the way. It’s nice to meet you.”

Derek just levels an unimpressed stare at the computer.

 

“Derek said no lacrosse.”

“I don’t care what Derek says,” Scott growls, diligently rethreading his lacrosse stick “And you shouldn’t either.”

“Am I literally the only one out of the two of us who is worried about hurting someone?” Stiles asks, with a frown. “And then everyone will find out about us. Including the hunters! And after they’ve chopped us in half and left us in the woods they’re going to go after Derek and then we’re all going to be dead!”

“I’ve already been threatened by Coach that I’ll be taken off the team if I don’t play at all. Lydia has threatened me because I damaged her boyfriend. My mom has the night off, Allison is going to be there… I can’t not play.”

“I’ll break your leg; then you can claim a sporting injury.”

Scott blanches.

“Don’t worry,” Stiles just shrugs dismissively. “It will heal. Then when it does, you can say it must have been a strain.”

“Are you serious?” Scott stares in alarm at Stiles, “First Derek and now you? Derek already ruined my stick!”

“What? The other night?”

“No! I went to his place! He dropped off Allison’s jacket… I don’t… he could hurt her!”

“You could hurt her! And what the hell were you thinking of going over to his place? It’s a burnt out wreck. Wait… do you think he lives there?”

“His car was there.” Scott squints dubiously at the wall, “And he buried something there. Something bloody.”

“Really? That’s awesome. I mean… that’s terrible.”

Scott examines his lacrosse stick, “I don’t know. But if we find a body, then we can nail Derek for the murder. And then your dad can get him arrested, and I can play lacrosse. Everyone’s happy.”

“Uh… no.” Stiles is shaking his head, and Scott takes in the worry in his gaze, “No, no… I think you playing lacrosse is a bad idea. This whole idea actually… is really selfish. What if you shift? What if you hurt someone?”

Scott tosses his lacrosse stick on the bed, standing to meet Stiles’ gaze, “Are you worried about _me_ hurting someone?” he snaps, “Or _you_? Now help me find this body or don’t, either way I don’t care.” He pushes past Stiles, marching towards the door. He hears an exasperated sigh and then footsteps. Stiles is following him.

For now.

 

“Really?” Stiles just stares down at the body. He doesn’t want to be here, and he’s left his headphones in the car. He can hear everything in the night, and it’s dizzying but reassuring someone. He’s not scared of the dark, because now he knows exactly what’s out there. “I wasted all that time at the hospital, listened to Lydia and Jackson make out and read three pages on the menstrual cycle just to dig up the body of a wolf?”

“I don’t… the scent was the same.”

“And apparently Derek lives here. Here?” Stiles rocks back, staring at the wolf body and he places his hands behind him for support. Something burns underneath and he yanks his hand away sharply. “What the…” he reaches out, grabbing at the rope in the soil.

It’s got something wrapped around and it is buried in the dirt and leaves, spreading outwards. He gives it a tug and it comes loose, unravelling.

“Stiles,” Scott whispers, staring at something. Stiles’ hands burn and he drops the rope, turning to look at what Scott can see.

It’s a girl. The same girl from the woods. The one with claws and fangs and the girl who was cut in half.

Stiles’ hands burn and he glances at the rope, at the purple petals attached and the plant buried at the end of the chain.

It’s wolfsbane.

At some point Stiles and Scott really need to sit down with Derek to get a proper lessons on werewolves.

 

Which is probably why when Derek is arrested on Saturday morning, Stiles wanders into the Sheriff’s car while Hale sits in the back seat and spins around. “Okay, so we haven’t really met, and we don’t really know each other…” Derek is glaring at him, “But tell me something. That girl… the one in the woods…” Stiles stops, because he’s about to say ‘the girl you killed’ but Derek isn’t the same thing that bit him. “Who was she?”

“Why are you so interested in me when it’s your friend and yourself you should be worried for. Scott’s unstable. And you… you just need one trigger and you’ll be the same.” Derek’s defensive, and Stiles has noticed how his question went unanswered.

The door is open and Stiles doesn’t get to ask any more, because his dad is dragging him out of the car. “You stand, right here… and how about you tell me what you’re doing?”

“Trying to help?” it turns into a question.

His dad squints in suspicion. “And you just happened to find the other half of the body. How did you even know about… you were listening in on my calls again, weren’t you?”

“No!” Stiles protests.

“Are you lying to me?” his dad is angry. Angry and worse of all, he’s disappointed. “Were you sneaking through the woods looking through dead bodies?”

“No!” Stiles protests, “We were looking for Scott’s inhaler,” Stiles sighs, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Which he dropped…” the Sheriff prompted.

“He was out here the other day, after school.” Stiles shrugs.

“Alone?”

“He took a walk in the woods, running for lacrosse tryouts. I wasn’t with him, I was sick, remember?” Stiles should feel guilty using himself as a weapon against his dad, but it works.

His dad nods, with a sigh and shoves him away. “Fine. You go… go…”

“Going…” Stiles turns his back, wondering if his chance to admit to his dad that he was a werewolf has just come and gone.


	5. Connection

“I want to go out with Allison, I want to play lacrosse, I want to live my friggin’ normal life!”

Yeah, as if it could be that simple.

Stiles is almost jealous when it all turns out okay. Which is stupid. Because surely Scott should be allowed this. He and Allison are kissing in the locker room, and he back tracks, and then realises he has nowhere else to go.

He has nobody else to go to. He’s a werewolf, and the only other werewolves around either want him dead or maimed, or are snogging with girlfriends.

He lingers, gritting his teeth and waiting for them to finish. It’s awkward, but the pair are in their own little world. It’s sickeningly sweet and Stiles can’t even be angry at Scott.

He’s just disappointed.

“I kissed her,” Scott’s in some sort of love daze. Allison wanders out, trying not to be freaked out by Stiles spying on them.

“I saw,” Stiles says, chewing on his lip.

“She kissed me.”

“I saw that too.”

“I don’t know how… but somehow… I controlled it.”

Stiles is starting to think his werewolf bite was defunct. Scott’s been the only one having anger issues, while Stiles still walks around with a pair of headphones on. It’s gotten to the point where nobody is even bothering to ask questions, not even Coach as he comments about ‘did the opposing team just pass us the ball?’.

He needs to talk to Derek. It’s just as well Derek’s out of jail, and so he tells Scott as much.

“And the kicker?” he adds, “They ID-ed the dead girl. Laura Hale.”

“Hale?”

“Derek’s sister.”

 

He can still feel it. Even hours later, the hairs at the back of his neck are still standing up, and he still thinks he can smell the blood that should cling to his claws.

Scott’s had nightmares, but nothing ever quite matched up to the realism of this dream. “And I just woke up. And I was sweating like crazy and I couldn’t breathe. I’ve never had a dream when I woke up like that before.”

“Really? I have. It usually ends a little differently.” Stiles grins slightly, and then proceeds to walk into the door. He shoves it out of the way, wincing a little and fiddling with the headphones that are becoming a familiar sight on his head. His hair is growing out, and his brown eyes are bright for a change. He’s the most relaxed Scott has seen him since the bite, which considering Hale is out of jail is odd enough in itself.

“A: I’ve never had a dream that felt that real and B: never give me that much detail about you in bed again.”

“Noted.”

It was a wolf-dream. This much Scott knows, that the dream was linked to the bite. “Have you had any similar dreams?” he asks.

Stiles just shrugs, “Nope.” He’s dealing with everything so much more easily than Scott. He’s almost jealous. But then Stiles isn’t even playing lacrosse, he’s been benched for pretty much the whole season as Coach’s assistant. And Stiles doesn’t have a girlfriend. Stiles has nothing to worry about except being a werewolf. And unlike Scott where everything is just piling up and he can’t deal, Stiles is still waiting for his own breaking point.

If it hadn’t been for the incident at the locker room where Stiles had pinned Scott down with golden eyes and fangs bared then Scott would have doubted Stiles was even a werewolf.

Stiles was the best werewolf ever.

Well… if it wasn’t for his senses being out of whack.

Scott feels almost guilty. He can’t imagine what it’s like to hear everything all at once layered on top of each other. “We need someone to help us,” he finally admits, “Some expert in werewolves.”

“You mean like Derek.”

Scott reluctantly sighs, “Yeah, I mean Derek.”

“You remember the part when we got him tossed in jail?”

“We still don’t know that he didn’t kill his sister.”

“We got him tossed in jail.” Stiles repeats. “So you could go to a lacrosse game.”

“Do you know any other options?” Scott snaps angrily, just as they push out of the corridor and turn to the outside, and the yellow police tape catches his eyes.

Seconds after the splash of red on the yellow tape comes into focus and his stomach lurches.

It had been real, he thinks, numbly. His dream was real.

He needs to find Allison.

Is that her blood spread out over the bus? Is her body lying in there, the throat ripped open by a pair of animal jaws?

“Scott! Scott, wait!” Stiles stumbles after him, but Scott is already vanishing back into the crowd of students, turning this way and that, searching and trying to catch a scent…

“She’s two corridors down, wearing perfume and has her I-pod plugged in playing some heavy metal.” Stiles’ hand closes onto Scott’s shoulder, dragging him back, “Do you hear me? Scott? Scott! She’s okay!”

“What?” Scott stares at Stiles, who just rolls his eyes.

“Down the corridor and around the corner down the stairs,” Stiles instructs, “She’s walking along quickly, just left maths and has music playing. I can hear her heartbeat.”

Scott releases a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Stiles nods, “I swear. She’s okay.”

And Scott just relaxes. He trusts Stiles, will always trust Stiles, and he believes him now. “Thank you,” he whispers, “Thank you.” He’s still edgy, and Stiles just gives him a little push.

“Go and check,” he grins weakly, “Go on. Reassure yourself.”

Scott casts a grateful glance behind him, and then spins around. He has no idea how Stiles was able to pick out Allison among the other pupils in the school, but he’ll be eternally grateful for it.

 

Once he’s reassured himself that Allison is alive and safe in her French class, he sits down next to Stiles in chemistry and allows his mind to wander back to the bus and the dream.

“So what was the blood from?”

“Maybe it was yours?”

Scott pales, “Then what if they ID it as me?”

“Do they have your genetic data in the system?” Stiles squints at him. “I know your mom is a nurse and all, but unlike me who insisted that my dad finger print and get a genetic ID for me when I was eight, you shouldn’t be in the system. Oh woe is me,” he sighs, head dropping to the desk, “You can get away with crimes and I can’t.”

“Wouldn’t it come back as wolf, though?” Scott considers, “The hairs on the girl’s body were wolf.”

“She turned into a wolf though…” Stiles frowns, “Hey, maybe you just killed a rabbit or something.”

“And did what?” Scott asks, horror-struck, “Gutted it?”

“Ate it.”

“Raw?”

“No, you stopped to bake it in a little werewolf oven.”

Harris is glaring at them from the front of the classroom so Scott reluctantly turns around. Stiles glares at Harris, angry probably at the teacher’s personal vendetta against him.

“Hey!” a girl stands up, staring out of the window, “They’ve found something.”

“That’s not a rabbit,” Stiles whispers in Scott’s ear as they move to the window, staring at the bloody body of the man on the stretcher.

He’s covered in blood, and beneath that razor sharp lines that look like exactly what they are.

Claw marks.

 

 “We’ll figure it out.” Allison has no idea what Stiles and Scott are conspiring about, but then that friend of Scott’s is weird enough as it is, without the conspiring and his habit of looking at crime scene photos in the middle of econ class.

“Figure what out.” Lydia announces her presence airily, sliding into a seat next to Scott. Allison claims the other side as Stiles gapes at Lydia.

“Why is she sitting with us?” he asks, in a loud whisper. Lydia turns up her nose and huffs, while Allison just grabs her knife and fork and examines the school meal in front of her.

“You think I know?”

Allison has no idea how Stiles can even hear anything through the headphones that read to be noise-dampening. They look like a mix between music headphones and something her dad would use on the shooting range.

“They’re saying it’s a mountain lion,” Allison tunes back into the conversation to listen to Danny’s input.

“Probably cougar,” Jackson corrects, as if he has to be right.

“A cougar is a mountain lion.” Lydia sniffs, and then looks up to see everyone’s eyes on her. She’s clever, Allison’s noticed. Really clever. But she’d rather pretend otherwise. “Isn’t it?”

Who cares?” Jackson scoffs, “Probably some homeless guy,”

“No.” Stiles actually pulls down his headphones and winces as if the action pains him. His hair stands messily, mid-way between the short cut it had been before and the fresh growth that is ruffled by the headphones. He’s got his phone out and is staring at something on screen. “He’s a bus driver. Garrison Myers.” He flips his phone around to show everyone the video.

“Let’s talk about something more cheerful,” Lydia changes the topic. She’s skilled and it’s almost too easy for her to play with everyone. Allison finds herself admiring Lydia more and more. “We should hang out together,” she decides, and Allison notes how she is talking only about her, Jackson, Allison and Scott, excluding Stiles and Danny.

Stiles just leans back, tugging his headphones back on. He’s nervous, fingers tapping on the table and he keeps shooting her nervous glances. Allison’s not had a proper conversation with him, and she really needs to get to know Scott’s best friend.

I have to do something more fun that watching lacrosse videos.”

“Stabbing myself with a fork sounds fun.” Jackson snarks dryly.

“How about bowling?” Lydia ignores Jackson. Allison has no idea how she manages it. “There’s a new bowling alley that’s opened up. Do you bowl?” she asks Allison and Scott.

“I can try,” Allison shrugs.

“How about we hang out with people who are actual competition?” Jackson scoffs. Rude. Allison levels a glare at him.

“How do you know we’re not actual competition?” she parrots his words back to him.

“Well, McCall?” Jackson just uses the opportunity to bait Scott. Allison leans into his slightly in reassurance and watches as Stiles winces as if in anticipation at what’s coming. Stiles knows Scott better than anyone, and so she waits for the words to come.

“I’m a great bowler.”

Allison regrets the idea of a double date already.

 

"How come you dreamt about it and I didn't?" Stiles asks, waving his hand between them, "If it's this alpha that bit both of us."

"I don't know!" Scott hisses, "I'm new to this whole thing. And how the hell am I meant to survive the weekend?"

"I know," Stiles sighs, "You're a terrible bowler."

"And Lydia and Jackson will be there." Scott moans, "I'm going to die!"

Stiles frowns, thinking back to what must have been the most awkward lunch ever, and not just because he spent half of it listening to Lydia lie through her teeth about how clever she was, but Danny had really nice aftershave - Armani, Stiles thinks. "I don't think Danny likes me," he muses, "Am I not attractive to gay guys?"

Scott isn't listening.

"Dude, you didn't answer my question! Am I attractive to gay guys?!"

 

Derek lurks in the burnt remains of his old house.

Naturally that’s where Scott finds him. Derek is beginning to think that he should stop being so damn obvious. If a teenage, newly bitten werewolf could find him, then so could the hunters.

He reluctantly opens his door to confront Scott. He’s alone, and Derek still needs to meet Stiles properly. The other kid had amazing control on the full moon, even if he still has no understanding of why. That will come with time. Maybe.

“We’re sorry,” Scott says, “About your sister. Unless you killed her, in which case I’m not sorry at all. But sorry for getting you in jail, unless you did hurt that guy on the bus. Because I had this dream and it was so real… and it was like I was on the bus, hurting that guy. Could I have done that?”

“Yes.”

“How can I know?”

“Do you want to know if you hurt the bus driver?” Derek asks, frowning, “Or do you want to know if you’ll hurt her?”

Scott’s silence is his answer. He’s enamoured with Allison Argent, and Derek can’t help but see the parallel. At least the Stiles-kid is sensible. He’s not playing lacrosse, he’s keeping his head down, unlike Scott.

“We need a teacher,” Scott says, reluctantly, “We don’t know everything?”

“What? Did your little friend Stiles, finally find something he couldn’t just google?”

Scott looks slightly hurt. Derek doesn’t care. “I can show you how to remember.  I can show you how to control he shift even on the full moon. But it’s not going to come for free.”

The little beta looks sick, as if he’s expecting Derek to name something ridiculous like a price or nefarious favour. “What do you want?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Derek waves it off, “But right now, go back to the bus. Use your senses. What can you see? Smell? Hear? It will trigger the memories.”

He watches Scott leaves and considers everything. The little betas know nothing. Not about Laura, about the fire, not about the other wolf that is in the area. They still think it’s Derek. He should probably correct that assumption, but for now it’s safer the less they know.

 

"That's it," Stiles decides, upon hearing of Scott’s meeting with Derek. "You're going to the bus."

"What? No!" Scott protests.

"Yes," Stiles nods vigorously, "We need to find out what happened with the bus driver. We need to know if this will happen again."

"But…" and Scott is scared. He doesn't want to know what happened. What if he was the one that had injured that guy?

What if he was a monster? What if the Argents were right and he needed to be put down?

"It will be okay," Stiles mistakes his apprehension for nervousness, "I have an idea."

 

"I hate this idea," Scott hisses, staring at the fence from the car. Stiles shrugs.

"It's the only thing we've got. Derek says to go back to the place and try to remember."

"Why didn't you have the dream as well?" Scott asks, puzzled, "Otherwise you could have gone!"

Stiles frowns, "I was with my dad. I mean… he was downstairs with the TV on and the only way I can sleep nowadays in listening to him breathing and his heartbeat."

Scott pauses, "Is that why you look so terrible all the time?"

"I do not look terrible. As if you'd look better with the amount of hours I manage to sleep! My dad works nights far too often!"

Scott takes a moment to examine Stiles, how twitchy his friend is. He tries to imagine what it must be like to be aware of every little sound and unable to just tune it out the way Scott is doing right now. "I'll go," he says, opening the jeep door, "Do lookout?"

"I'm starting to feel like Robin," Stiles sighs.

Scott stares at him through the open door, "Nobody is Batman and Robin in this!" he hisses, before closing the door and heading to the fence.

It's a chain thing, and it's flimsy and clatters when he puts his hands to it. Glancing around and seeing nobody about, he backs up and takes a running jump at it.

His fingers hook through the metal and he pulls himself up and over before he's really aware of what he's doing. He sees Stiles gaping at him through the windscreen and so Scott just hopes he looked impressive.

 

“So maybe it’s like an initiation thing,” Stiles says once Scott has visited the bus, been assaulted by memories and narrowly escaped being caught by a police officer, “Kill together, and join the pack.”

“That is sick,” Scott pulls a face, “But at least I didn’t kill him. You know what that means?” he perks up slightly, glancing at Stiles.

“We’re not going to keep sleepwalking and go around killing people?” Stiles grins.

“I can go out with Allison!”

“Oh.” Stiles’ face drops, “Yeah, that too.” He rolls his eyes, as if Scott’s priorities are a little bit skew at the moment.

And to be fair, they probably are. After all, Scott is a werewolf.

But he’s not going to let it affect his life. He’s not.

He can be a werewolf and a normal teenager too.

He can.


	6. Thrall

Derek had been hoping to avoid the Argent clan knowing he was even here entirely.

Then Scott McCall had to go and get him arrested.

And now… well there was no avoiding it really. He stood by the side of his car uncomfortably as the two cars drew up. He eyed the security camera in the corner of the gas station, but wasn’t surprised at all when the green light switched itself off.

“And personally,” Chris washes the windows of Derek’s car with vigour. Derek wants to rip him apart for even touching Laura’s car, but he can’t. He has to stand there and listen. “Personally I’m very protective over the things I love.”

The threat actually makes Derek relax slightly. Because Chris’s family are in the area. This meeting is as much as a warning to Derek to not do anything stupid as it is a warning to avoid the Argent family.

Specifically the Argent daughter.

Once again, Derek curses Scott McCall. The assurance that Chris wants to assure his family’s safety gives Derek the confidence to point out, “You forgot to check the oil.”

Chris stiffens and Derek knows he’s pushed too.

“Well?” the hunter asks, icily, “You heard him. Check the man’s oil.”

One of the other hunters, brutal and vicious doesn’t listen. Derek’s uncertain if Chris actually wanted the oil to be checked or if he wanted the window smashed in, but either way that was what Derek gets. Shards of glass scatter at his feet and Chris sighs, imperceptibly.

Derek just stares at the broken glass, reflecting a thousand different images and considers how his life has shattered around him. How Laura is dead and had been torn into pieces, just as easily as her car window had shattered.

And he’s alone. He’s well and truly alone.

And like it or not, Scott McCall and his friend may be the only people he has to rely on.

Well in that case he should probably inform them about the alpha.

 

Stiles wakes up in the woods.

He can't quite beat Scott's record of waking up naked, but he is instead covered in the blood of a mountain lion. Said mountain lion is lying nearby, blood smeared around in a spiral with the lion and Stiles at the centre.

He rolls away from the corpse and gags, but there is nothing but bile in his mouth and stomach. His hands are sticky with blood and he scrambles upright, pushing himself up and away, staring at the horror and carnage. His pulse races and a dozen scents him, least of all the scent of his own fear barely there under a strong sense of satisfaction.

Stiles is in some sort of daze as he walks forwards again, hand reaching out to the body and burying itself into where the fur meets claw marks. His fingers twist in the flesh and he shudders in revulsion.

He did this, he thinks, and then he flinches away, snatching his hand back and wondering what the hell he's doing.

The blood is drying on his hand, and his skin feels trapped. He himself feels trapped, longing to fly and run free, to howl and snarl and fight and…

Stiles shakes his head, dizzy suddenly. Run, something urges him, Run and come find me.

Again he's moving before he realises it, stumbling forwards past the body and to the woods beyond before he stops, staring. His pulse races and in the shadows of the forest beyond something moves.

There is something out there, Stiles knows. Something waiting.

Waiting for him.

He tears himself backwards and grabs his phone.

 

Scott McCall is a liar, Lydia thinks. He's terrible at bowling.

Jackson laughs, openly and brashly, as Allison stands up and makes a spare. Lydia follows and just for his benefit she misses the first one, and then gets a strike.

Jackson gapes at her as she spins smugly around and flounces back to them, "I must be getting the hang of it," she says with a smile. He puffs out his chest, pleased for her, with just a slight frown at her performance. Lydia's whole life is a performance though, and this is just another act on top of that.

Allison sees right through her though, and Lydia is going to have to keep this girl close as her new best friend. Not best friend of Lydia Martin the queen of the school, but a best friend of Lydia who understands who she is really.

"Maybe," Allison leans over towards her, "You should stop pretending to suck, just for his benefit."

Lydia smiles thinly, "Trust me," she says, "I do plenty of sucking just for his benefit."

Nearby Scott's face twists in disgust and Lydia checks herself. She hadn't realised she'd said that so loudly. She listens to the clatter of pins falling and turns to watch as Jackson misses his spare.

She puts on an appropriate face of sympathy as Jackson stalks back. Scott stands, grabbing the bowling ball. "You should go help him." Lydia says, as the shot which is going to be terrible - she can tell just from the angle - rolls down the alley. As predicted it rolls into the gutter.

With a sigh and a smug grin Allison skips up to Scott. Lydia can't hear what she says, but Scott blinks, dazed. He's stupidly in love, in a way Lydia doesn't think she'll ever be. She loves Jackson, but it's something strong, deeper than friendship, but not quite romantic, despite all their pretences and the key to his house. She's turned up in the evenings just to sit listening to him talk, much in the way he turns up with a bottle of some fancy wine after an argument. They're best friends and they're boyfriend and girlfriend and that's all Lydia, queen of the school, needs.

A phone rings in the pocket of the hoodie on the bench next to her. Scott is still standing with Allison and so Lydia ignores it.

It keeps ringing. It stops, and then rings again. With a sigh, Lydia reaches forwards, plucking it up with manicured fingernails.

"Want any food?” Jackson is wandering off, still pissed. She shakes her head, flipping the phone right side up and looking at the caller details. Stiles.

Scott is still busy, because now Allison is having her shot. Lydia makes a decision and answers the call.

Instantly Stiles is talking on the other side, words slurred together and he sounds drunk, "Scott, thank god. So you know that dream you had about werewolf pack bonding with the bus driver that wasn't a dream? I… I j...just had one too and I… I don't … I don't know where I am and… and… he... he's inside my head… Scott… he’s… god Scott he’s our _alpha_ …" Lydia's mouth is open, frowning, and that's when the phone is plucked out her hand.

"Stiles!" Scott hisses, "Lydia just answered my phone."

She can't hear the reply, she just purses her lips, "It kept ringing." she shrugs, "Is Stiles okay? He sounds…" Ill. Scared. Freaked out. She replays the words through her head.

Werewolf pack bonding with the bus driver.

The bus driver that had been injured?

Alpha. Werewolf.

Scott's staring at her, listening to Stiles and then spluttering, "He says he's fine," Scott is obviously relaying whatever Stiles is saying, "He says that he was talking about a role playing game… an online gaming community…" It's a lie, what Lydia might have assumed left to her own devices.

But if the obvious answer was a lie then that left only the least obvious answer as the solution. Occam's razor.

Werewolves, she muses, stomach churning and she's scared. She's scared and disbelieving because barely a minute later, Scott is running off, making excuses to Allison about his friend, and she looks sad but understanding and Scott is going, Scott is leaving, after his best friend phoned him up talking about werewolves and alphas.

"Are you okay?" Allison drops down next to her, "Scott had to go. He says Stiles had a panic attack over something…" her face falls slightly, "I got his number though." she says, waving her phone about.

Lydia just stares at her new friend.

Allison Argent.

Argent. Silver.

That is the last time Lydia answers somebody’s phone for them.

 

“What do you mean he’s our alpha?” Scott repeats in disbelief. “Derek? And by alpha you mean like it’s a pack thing?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles hisses back. Scott and Stiles are sneaking back in after curfew. Allison is going to get a lift back with Lydia and Jackson, and Scott had run off to fetch Stiles from where he was sitting by the side of the road, hands still covered in blood.

“Oh god,” Scott had said, and then hurried Stiles into the car. “Don’t touch anything.” He instructed, “Here,” he threw a cloth at Stiles, “Clean up. What the hell…?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles shook his head, “I don’t… I just woke up. I was dreaming… I had to go find something. I was looking for something and then I was there and there was a mountain lion and it’s insides were scattered around in a freakin’ spiral and…” he shuddered and fell silent.

Scott drops the car off in the driveway, eyes the door and then gestured to the window. “Let’s avoid my mom,” he says, and shoves Stiles towards climbing to the window. Stiles had managed fine without enhanced reflexes, and now he just sort of hops up in a daze, not even thinking about it. He eases the window open and slips through.

Scott follows, and blinks at the sight of his mom wielding a baseball bat. “Mom!” he cries out, seconds before Melissa hits out at his best friend.

Stiles has already rolled to the side and somehow managed the pull the sleeves of his hoodie down to hide the blood he hadn’t managed to clean off with spit and a cloth. “Hi Mrs McCall,” he says weakly, but he looks shaky and about to keel over.

“Stiles!” Scott’s mom hisses, then turns to Scott, “Would you please tell your friend to use the front door?”

“But we lock the front door,” Scott blinks, confused, “He wouldn’t be able to get in.”

Melissa rolls her eyes, as if that is the point, but Scott can’t imagine having a house barred from Stiles’ entry. They’ve been sneaking into each other’s houses since Stiles’ mom died and Scott’s dad left. It’s their thing that they do, and Scott doesn’t want to lose that. Not ever.

“Do either of you even care there is a police enforced curfew?”

“No.” they chorus in sync.

“Fine.” Mellissa looks pained, “That is enough parenting for me for one night.” She props the bat back up in Stiles’ room, and Scott tried not to notice how Stiles is eyeing it speculatively. That’s twice within two weeks he’s almost been brained by it, and Scott wouldn’t be surprised if it ends up living in the Stilinski household from now on.

“Oh,” Melissa pauses and the doorway, “I just thought you might want to know that the bus driver who was attacked…” she pauses and winces, “He’s dead. He succumbed to his wounds.” She vanishes, and Scott swallows, because he knows he didn’t kill the guy, but the guy is now dead anyway and…

“Scott.”

Stiles looks at his best friend.

“We need to see Derek.” Stiles says, “We need to talk to him… see if he was there…”

Scott just nods, but he’s losing control of everything too fast. Werewolves were bad enough, but now werewolves and murders and hunters and he and Stiles are still stuck right in the middle of things. He’s angry too, because Derek isn’t talking. And Derek knows stuff. Derek knows everything too well. He’s hiding stuff and he can’t be trusted.

He still doesn’t believe that Derek didn’t kill anyone.

He sighs. “Let’s go talk to Derek then.”

 

The Hale House is dark and gloomy, looming over the forest. Stiles can only imagine what it used to look like in its glory, large and imposing and screaming wealth.

It must have been wonderful to watch burn, he thinks. Wonderful and terrible.

“Derek!” Scott doesn’t even pause to admire the ruined building, bounding up the stairs and into the house. Stiles follows at a more sedate pace, testing out the old wooden structure so that he won’t go tumbling down into the basement or cellar.

There are growls from inside and Stiles walks through the door, just in time for Scott to crash into the wall next to him. Stiles flinches, ducking down and his arms flying up to protect himself. “What the hell?”

“I came back,” Derek leaps down the stairs, “To find my sister in pieces being used as bait!”

“What?” Stiles’ gaze switches from where Scott is angry and his eyes are glowing gold to where Derek is stalking forwards, “Are you guys fighting? Seriously?”

“I think you killed them,” Scott bites out, “You killed your sister. And you killed the bus driver.”

Stiles thinks Derek has every right to throw Scott through another wall. He doesn’t complain, just flinches away from the flying shards of wood and squints after them. Great, he mentally sighs, before following after.

Scott and Derek have both shifted. Derek’s lost all his eyebrows and his eyes are an ice blue. Scott’s eyes are gold and he’s got the worst sideburns ever.

“I.” Derek punches Scott, “Didn’t.” Another hit, “Kill. Anyone.” Scott coughs out blood and Stiles bristles, unaware that he’s growling until Derek turns to him.

“Let go of him.” He says, feeling his claws extend, a slight ache in his finger tips and a point of pressure where his canines are curling out. “Let go of him and let’s talk this through. Can’t we discuss who killed who like civilised people?”

“He ruined my life,” Scott’s sounding frustrated. Frustrated and bitter and that’s probably what triggered the shift. Stiles had mistakenly assumed Scott was calm going into this, but he’s not. He’s worried and scared and he’s lashing out.

Derek turns back to Scott, looking like he’s going to rip Scott into shreds. Before he even realises it, Stiles is moving forwards, latching claws into Derek’s shirt and tearing him backwards off Scott. Derek slashes out but Stiles lets go, darting out of range. Beneath Derek, Scott rolls out of the way, baring his teeth like an animal.

“Why do you want to trust him?” Scott snarls at Stiles, “He’s the one who bit us!”

“No. I’m not.” Derek whirls around, not knowing who to attack. Stiles backs away, letting the shift slide away. He can’t keep it up and quite honestly has no desire to. Not with the way the world had gone from magnified to screaming in his ears.

“What?” Scott blinks.

“I didn’t bite you.”

But someone did. Someone was in the woods that night. Someone had mauled the bus driver. Someone had been out there with Stiles and the mountain lion.

“There’s another,” Derek blinked his eyes back to green. “It’s called an alpha. It’s the most dangerous of our kind.”

 _‘He’s our alpha, Scott.’_ Stiles had said to his friend, mind-numb and confused. Something had been calling to him, calling for pack and protection and the hunt…

“And us?” Derek looked from Scott to Stiles wearily, almost defeated, “We’re betas. This thing is more powerful, more animal that any of us. The shift turns you into something that reflects the person you are. This thing isn’t shifting into a wolf. It’s shifting into a monster.” He sighs, looking so lonely for a moment, “My sister came here, now me, but I need your help. He bit you.” he glanced between then again, “You’re part of _his_ pack.”

“What does that mean?” Scott whispers, mournfully.

“It means he wants you to join him,” Derek speaks it like a death sentence, “The pair of you… he’ll wants you in his pack, or he’ll want you dead. And one way or another he’ll get what he wants.”


	7. Bullet

He spends his nights wandering the town. The alpha has to strike again, and when it does, Derek will be ready. He envisions tearing the rogue wolf’s throat out in various ways, avenging Laura’s death.

Previous nights he has found nothing, but now he can hear the howls, along with the sharp retort of a shotgun. Derek runs straight for it, leaping along the rooftops to avoid the road and traffic cameras dotted through town.

His claws ache for blood but all he can feel is a churning pit of nausea and illness. If he kills the rogue alpha, he’ll become an alpha. Derek wasn’t made to be an alpha, but he’ll take up the mantle and try to be an alpha that Laura will be proud of. He’ll get Stiles and Scott into his pack, bite another teenager and then settle down in Beacon Hills.

It would all be fine.

A car screeched to a halt and a familiar scent hit him on the breeze. Derek froze, heart pounding because no no no it wasn’t meant to come to this.

Not her. Not now.

There is a growl and the flash of a shape. It’s the rogue and it’s going after the woman stepping out of the stopped car.

The rogue werewolf is going after the hunters trying to kill it.

Kate doesn’t care though. Why should she? She’s a hunter. Derek tastes bile and slips along in the shadows. There is another flash of movement and the alpha is bounding up to the rooftops. Derek grits his teeth, ignores the proximity to the huntress and takes his own running leap off the building he had been stalking along.

He lands on the opposite rooftop, claws grating on the tiles as he steadies himself. He shoves himself upwards, running towards the next rooftop and where a large, furred shape is vanishing over the next sloping roof.

Derek leaps after it, without even thinking. He can cross the gap easily, should cross it easily, if it wasn’t for the crack that split the air and the sharp pain that catches him in the arm.

He misses the rooftop, tumbling down the alleyway. His left arm is burning, and he rights himself, blinking in a daze.

He’s been shot, he realises. Kate shot him.

He wants to laugh. It’s almost ironic. His arm is burning and trying to heal and he squints down at the blue smoking wound.

It’s burning him from the inside out, and Derek can’t help but think it’s perfect. He got his family burnt into ashes, and now he’ll burn to death, poisoned by wolfsbane. It’s a fitting sort of punishment for his sins.

 

“This is such a bad idea.”

Stiles slips along the darkened streets, looking around for any sign of… well… anything. “Dude, it was your idea.” He complains to where Scott is leading, poking his head around corners just as another gunshot rings out.

“Since when is sneaking out at night my idea? It’s usually your department.”

“Since I got us bitten by a werewolf,” Stiles chews on a lip. “You think they’re shooting at Derek? Or the alpha?”

“You think I know?” Scott hisses a response. “Woah!” he sticks out a hand, holding Stiles back from rounding a corner, “There’s a woman there…”

Stiles freezes, and he has a brief zone out of listening, hearing the voices.

“There were two of them,” the woman says, scoffing in the back of her throat in disgust.

“One will lead us to the other.” That voice is definitely Chris Argent. The woman smells of blood and gun oil and fire but there’s that same baseline scent that marks the pair out as being related.

“You said Allison has an aunt, right?” Stiles whispers. Scott shushes him, because unlike Stiles his hearing isn’t as strong.

“Get off the streets with that rifle over your shoulder.”

“Excuse me. I needed this to stop it killing me!”

“Did you use one of those bullets? You know how expensive they are… I hope you hit it.”

“I hit something alright. When do you ever know me to miss, Chris?”

“How long?”

“48 hours.”

“Who did they shoot?” Stiles can only listen for so long. “Derek or the alpha?”

“The alpha, I hope,” Scott says viciously. Derek telling them he hadn’t been the one that bit them had transferred Scott’s entire resident anger straight over to the new rogue werewolf.

“We should check…” Stiles listened to the car doors slam, “If he only has 48 hours before the bullet kills him…”

“And we only have four hours left before we should be at school,” Scott hisses, “Come on.” He drags Stiles away as the cars start up.

He wonders what it means that his life has come to this: to sneaking around in dark alleys listening to hunters plotting about how to kill him and hang his werewolf-y pelt on a wall.

Scott’s eyes are sad and frustrated and Stiles thinks that is just how he should be feeling. Not this strange thrill of exhilaration and the tiny, little voice that whispers that he was made for this. He’s a better werewolf than Scott, has better control even if it’s not perfect yet. His senses tingle and it’s too much sometimes but there are rare times like now when everything is clear, and he can map the surrounding area with perfect knowledge.

It is at times like these that Stiles remembers that wolves are hunters too.

And if Stiles was made to be a werewolf, then Stiles was made to be a hunter. A predator.

Something inside him howls for blood, for flesh to rip at and shred, but Stiles squashes it down.

He just needs to keep his head down and look out for Scott.

It should be simple.

Right?

 

Allison bounces into her aunt’s room in the morning, grins and laughter ringing in the air. “Look at you,” Kate whistles, eyeing her and stepping back. Kate’s her father’s sister, but she’s always been more like Allison’s sister. “I bet the boys must be lining up after you.”

Allison’s grin is shy and she ducks her head, slipping down onto the bed. “Just one.” She shares, and Kate looks genuinely happy for her as she presses for details.

So Allison babbles on, opening up about Scott. About how kind he is, how he just stood out to her, not just because he’s a nice person, but he’s a nice person who is interested in her. He looks at her as if she hung the moon and she loves that. She loves him, she thinks, but she doesn’t want to think too much about that because she doesn’t really know what to think.

“Do you need help unpacking?” she offers Kate, “I don’t have to go to school quite yet.” She reaches out, grabbing at one of the duffel bags that clanks as she drags it towards her.

“No,” Kate’s sharp and stern tone have her freezing, but it’s the hand that closes on her wrist that actually scares Allison into flinching back, staring at Kate’s face.

Because for a moment he aunt isn’t smiles and laughter. For a moment Kate isn’t the soft, gentle aunt she knows. She’s ice and jagged blades and gun powder that just ignited in an explosion.

Then it all melts away and Kate lets go, grinning. There’s something fake about it though, something that makes Allison uneasy even though her aunt is leaning back, standing. “Look at me. You get the beauty, and I get the kung fu death grip.” She laughs it off, standing and moving the bag Allison had been looking at to the cupboard.

“It’s okay,” Allison says weakly, feeling anything but. “Hey, is your car okay?”

“My car?” It takes Kate a few seconds too long to work out what Allison is talking about. Her stomach rolls with doubt. “Oh, yeah. It just needed a jump start.”

And that’s the last thing. Jump start.

Last night he dad had said it was a flat tyre.

Which means either they were both really confused, which Allison doubts, because both her aunt and her dad understand enough about cars to know the difference between a jump start and a flat tyre. Maybe the car needed both, but then why not say that?

A fraction of fear shoots through her. “You know what?” she says, “I need to get ready for school. I’ll see you later!” she forces a smile and heads out of the room, trying not to think about what this could mean.

Her family is lying to her. They’re lying about something.

Allison is going to find out what.

 

He thinks McCall is on drugs.

It’s the only way to explain the kid’s sudden skills in lacrosse.

Well… Lydia had been considering that Scott was always this good and it’s only now he’s got a cure for his asthma that he can actually play properly, but Jackson doesn’t believe it. You can’t just cure asthma. Especially not like Scott’s asthma which had him almost banned from the team when he had an attack last year and they couldn’t find his inhaler because Stilinski wasn’t around.

And Jackson’s already asked McCall where he was getting his juice. ‘His mom did the grocery shopping’ was all that Jackson had leant.

Huh. Maybe McCall really didn’t know. Maybe Stilinski was dosing his friend with illegal steroids. Jackson wouldn’t put it past the Sheriff’s kid to do that. Stilinski was weird.

Or, he considered, walking along the corridor, there might be another dealer. Leather jacket, dark hair, handsome, not as pretty as Jackson of course, but a looker. Also a creepy stalker hanging out behind the lacrosse bleachers and watching the games.

So he must be there for Scott. He must be the dealer.

“What are you giving them?” Jackson leans on his locker and asks the guy. He frowns, looking at at where Jackson stands in his way, “Steroids, right? What kind?”

The guy just sort of glares in a confused manner as if he has no idea what Jackson is talking about. “Where can I find Scott McCall?” he asks, “Or Stiles. Now.” He can’t form full sentences either.

“Are you on that stuff?” Jackson flinches back in case it’s contagious. “Don’t sample to good, you look wrecked.”

Derek appears to be losing interest, sighing and stepping around to the side of him. Jackson grabs the volar of his jacket, pulling him back.

“Don’t walk away! I want to…”

His face meets his locker with a slam. There is something digging into the back of his neck and a low growl. “Don’t touch me.” The guy snarls in his ear, then tears away from Jackson. One hand flies to his neck immediately, and when he brings it away it is red with blood.

“He scratched me,” Jackson says to himself in disbelief, looking up the corridor to see where Leather Jacket had gone.

The corridor is filled with bustling students, but there is no sign of the guy.

Jackson winces and on his hand are crimson droplets of blood.

He doesn’t notice the blue tinge to it.

 

“So you and Scott are studying then.” Lydia smirks, rolling the word around in her mouth.

“Why do you say it like that?” Allison asks warily, trailing after her.

Lydia scoffs in the back of her throat, “Because it’s never just ‘studying’ you know. So are you prepared?”

Allison looks so alarmed it’s almost cute, “Prepared? For what? I’ve got some of my old notes, because I know Scott failed a history test, so I thought maybe giving him some more material to go through would help…”

“That’s not what I meant,” Lydia says snidely, “You know…” she smiles slyly, gesturing with her hands.

“No…” Allison frowns, “I don’t know what you mean…” but realisation is dawning in her voice.

“Condoms,” she announces, enjoying watching as Allison’s face pales. “Just think about it, sweetie,” she pats Allison on the shoulder, “Enjoy French.” She says, stepping backwards, “Maybe you could learn something there too,” she enjoys watching Allison’s expression cycle through various emotions before she finally ducks her head, letting her hair slide in front of her eyes in embarassment. “I’m joking,” she leaned forwards, before pulling away, “See you later.”

She spins around and flaunts down the corridor in a way that only Lydia Martin can. People move aside and let her pass without even realising what they are doing. It’s power in her hands and Lydia loves it.

The bell rings and a locker slams closed, someone stumbling away from the ringing bell. They look sick, dark shadows under their eyes and their skin pale and clammy.

He’s wearing a leather jacket and Lydia pauses, because she’s seen the guy before. He picked up Allison from her party. He’s also been hanging around the lacrosse field in a creepy manner.

He’s also been seen talking to Stiles and Lydia. Jackson seems to think Hale is their dealer for steroids.

Maybe not steroids, Lydia thinks, watching Hale straighten and focus on something along the corridor. He was beginning to move towards it when Lydia made her decision, slipping neatly into his path.

He pulls to a halt sharply, pupils wide and blown as he struggled to refocus on her.

"You," Lydia stalks up to the guy in a leather jacket. "You're Derek Hale."

He blinks at her, skin pale and clammy. "Yes," he whispers, and he sways where he stands, "Who are you?"

Lydia pauses, "Lydia Martin," she says, "You're a werewolf."

Derek stares at her for one long moment, and Lydia wonders if she should have done something else. He looks at her as if he's contemplating killing her, and it's a long pause before his eyes flutter shut and his weight drops to the ground in front of her.

Lydia Martin is used to boys getting flustered around her, but having one faint on her is a new experience for her. "Huh," she says, and then glances around to check nobody has seen. The corridor is empty, which is probably why a twenty something year old man has succeeded in walking around half-dead with nobody calling him out on it.

 

She’s afraid he’ll laugh. She’s told others before, girls mostly, about what she does. “Trying to be the new Katniss?” they joke, not taking her seriously. But Allison has been doing archery since before those books were even published, and she was better too. She has medals and trophies and certificates and all the equipment packed away, even though she hasn’t touched it for almost two years.

But she pulls it out anyway and shows it to him. Scott is different, she thinks, and she’s never been happier to be proved right. He flinches a little at the weapon, eyes widening. “So?” she asks with a shrug, “I used to do archery when I was younger. I’m out of practise, but…”

“Wow,” he looks almost relieved, “That’s so cool.”

“You think?” she asks.

“Yeah,” he nods, “It’s awesome… uh… provided you don’t go shooting little furry critters… you don’t, do you?” he’s acting strangely.

She laughs, “Of course not.” She turns around to put the compound bow back in the box and when she looks back Scott is staring at her dad’s store of weapons.

“Does your dad shoot furry critters?” Scott looks slightly scared.

“My dad sells ammunition and weapons to the police.” She explains. “He doesn’t shoot anyone.” She doesn’t miss the way Scott’s face goes pale at the thought. She grabs one of Scott’s hands, tugging him towards her, “He’s not going to shoot you.” she reassures him.

“He might,” Scott swallows. It’s more of a gulp. “He’s got pretty good aim… I mean… he must have a good aim, right?”

She silences him with a kiss, trying to keep in mind what Lydia had said. She’s still not sure if Lydia was joking or not, but she still tries to make the kiss as good as possible. There is definitely tongue and Scott lets out something that may or not be a moan, but Allison can’t explore that further because the garage door slams open.

Allison has pulled away and tugged Scott to the side, behind the nearby car. They crouch down and Scott winces at the voices that drift in. Allison notices his subtle glance at the guns and she emphatically shakes her head.

“She’s right you know,” Chris shifts his weight marginally so that he’s in view, looming over them, “I’m not going to shoot you, Scott.” He smiles, but he’s trying to psych Scott out. Allison feels frustrated at him, “Maybe you two could help out with the groceries. I might feel less inclined to shoot you then.”

Scott just nods numbly and the pair stand, looking sheepish.

 

“I should get going,” Scott admits as he brings one of the last bags in. Allison takes it from him and shakes her head.

“You don’t have to…”

“Actually, Victoria was just making dinner. That’s a good idea, Scott.” Chris appears behind her like an overprotective dad.

Scott looks suitably cowed and Allison tries to look apologetic as he backs away, turning around only to almost walk into Kate carrying the last bag. “Hey there! You must be Scott!” she smiles, teeth gleaming white, “I’ve heard so much about you and your cute puppy dog eyes!”

“Scott was just leaving,” Chris says between clenched teeth. Allison decides she really needs a talk with him.

“What? No!” Kate shakes her head, “I want to meet this young man that has captured Allison’s heart. Stay for dinner.”

“What.” Her dad doesn’t sound impressed. Allison doesn’t know what to say, because she doesn’t really want Scott to endure a family dinner. Not with her dad acting like he is.

“Come on Scott! There’s plenty to share!” Kate grins again, and it’s almost predatory. “It’s okay, isn’t it Chris?”

“Of course,” her dad sounds strained, almost pained in saying the words.

“Great,” Kate says, “That’s okay with you, right?”

“O-of course,” Scott nods, and then looks at Allison for help. She just offers him a weak and guilty smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So for anyone who is interested, the best way I can describe what I envision Stiles' hearing to be like would be to open a bunch of YouTube videos. Wear headphones, make sure the volume is up on all of them and then try to listen to one. It's confusing and disorientating and when combined with scents and sights it's a lot of information to process. I don't have ADHD so I don't know what it's like normally, but this a potential take on how lycanthropy might affect Stiles.
> 
> Also just wanted to thank anybody who has bookmarked, kudo-ed or commented on this story - it's really reassuring to know people are reading and enjoying this.


	8. Infected

Lydia has no idea how she managed to get Derek Hale to her car, let alone into the lakehouse where she drapes him on the sofa and considers him for a moment. He's sort of hot, she thinks, at least when he's not dying.

"Wake up," she slaps him across the face and Derek startles awake, blinking and looking really ill.

"Where am I?"

"Lakehouse," Lydia is still trying to work out what to do now, "You passed out."

"I need…" Derek - the idiot - is trying to stand up. "I need… get Scott. Scott…"

"Scott?" Lydia frowns, "Scott McCall?"

"Yes," Derek grabs onto her wrist and she carefully detaches his clinging fingers and pulls out her phone. "I need… bullet…" he says, "Got shot."

"I can see that," Lydia blinks at his pale, clammy skin and the arm bleeding black blood, "What with though? It looks like your arm is infected with some sort of poison but…"

"Wolfsbane," Derek groans, keeling backwards slightly onto the couch, "I need the bullet… need to know what type…"

Lydia understands suddenly in a flash of inspiration. Like a snake when you need the venom to make an anti-venom, Derek needs a bullet with the same poison in before he can make an antidote. "And why do you need Scott?" she asks, and then pauses, "Is Scott a werewolf?" she asks, eyes wide, because that lacrosse ability makes terrible sense suddenly. "He's not on steroids, is he?"

The man's only answer is to groan again, and so Lydia hurriedly scrolls through her contacts. "Please pick up," she prays, listening to the phone ring and ring and ring. There’s not reply and she tries again and again and then looks up at Derek. “He’s not answering. Anyone else?”

Derek’s head is drooping and she scrolls through her contacts, finding a second number. This better work, she prays.

The werewolf in her house closes his eyes and she thinks he's unconscious again.

 

“Hello?” Stiles picks up his ringing phone with a mixture of joy and wariness. Because why would Lydia Martin be calling him. He didn’t even know she had his number. He didn’t even know she knew he existed, unless this was about the waking up in the woods the other night thing, because that would be awkward.

“Stiles?” Lydia’s voice asks, “It’s Lydia.”

“I know. I have caller id,” he says.

There’s a pause. “You have my number.” It’s not even a question, and she sighs and moves on quickly, “I have Derek Hale sitting on my sofa unconscious bleeding black blood. Tell me: is that normal for a werewolf?”

“Derek Hale is on a sofa?” Stiles may do a double take, looking up from his laptop screen to stare at his wall. “A sofa?”

“That’s the part of the sentence you take away?” Lydia snipes, dryly.

Stiles runs it through in his head and decides that yeah - more important things to focus on. “You know about werewolves?”

“They’re real?” she asks, “I… no but I’m not an idiot and I can put things together. And I need help, okay? Can you come over here… I really don’t want to have to do this over the phone?”

Stiles scrambles upright, “Uh… sure… what address…?”

Lydia sounds surprised that he doesn’t know where she lives, but it’s just as well because she’s out of town near the lake at the south of the preserve anyway. “Hurry,” she tells him, “He won’t stop bleeding.”

Stiles winces, because even though he’s a creature of the night now, blood still makes him squeamish. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t yet fallen under blood lust.

Well not all werewolves can be perfect.

 

“Is that infected?” is the first thing Stiles says, closely followed by, “Did you get shot with a silver bullet?”

Derek groans, eyes opening and glaring at Stiles, “I asked for Scott.” He says.

“Hey, I’m your wolfy brethren too!” Stiles retorts.

“It’s aconite poisoning.” Lydia says, “I recognise the symptoms. What?” she says defensively when Stiles and Derek both turn to look at her, “I read,” she sniffs.

“Aconite. You mean wolfsbane?” Stiles whistles, “Oh man…”

“I need another one. Kate Argent. I need another bullet from her. One of the ones she shot me with. To make it better.” Derek grits out, and then pauses to attempt to tie something around his arm to stop the poison spreading.

“We can’t keep him here,” Lydia complains, “What if my mom visits!?”

“Then we’ll take him to his house.”

“No.” Derek groans, “If you take me there they’ll find me. And I can’t defend myself.”

“We’ll lock you in the basement,” Stiles suggests with a shrug.

“If you take me there I’ll rip your throat out. With my teeth.”

“Okay.” Stiles winces, because Derek still scares him. A little.

He and Lydia move away a little bit to talk in private, leaving Derek weak and pale on the couch.

“So he really is a werewolf?” Lydia asks, “And Scott? Is he a werewolf too?”

“Yes, yes and me.” Stiles nods.

“You?” Lydia sniffs, “You’re not a werewolf.”

“Hey!” Stiles protests, “Don’t judge a book by its cover. I got bitten with Scott. Now I’ve got super senses…” he waves at his ears, “And super healing and…” Lydia still looks doubtful.

“Prove it.” She declares.

Stiles splutters, “I… I can’t just…” he shakes his head, “It doesn’t work like that!” he protests.

“So you’re not a werewolf?” Lydia baits him, “Come on then. Shift.”

“It might be dangerous.”

“And? I’ve got Derek Hale sitting on my sofa dying from aconite poisoning. Try me.”

He glares at her angrily, but finally after a bit of deliberation gives up. He closes his eyes, trying to count his breaths, trying to remember what it feels like to have his claws curling outwards, have his eyes burn with wolf sight and the fangs in his mouth. He tries to remember the feeling of skin knitting together and power in his muscles and the sounds echoing across from over a mile away and…

It hits him just like that and it’s like the full moon. His hearing is bad enough normally without the amplification the extra power from the moon brings. His eyes fly open and his hands fly to his ears, because he hasn’t shifted, he’s just pressed the button that starts the world screaming in his ears.

Lydia steps backwards, alarmed, “Stiles?” she asks, “Stiles!” he sinks to his knees, breathing erratic and panicked. “What is it?”

Her words echo a hundred times layered over each other. He can hear her heart beat, blood in the veins, Derek’s weak pulse and the house creaking, the lake lapping, leaves rustling… “I can’t make it stop,” he says, between gasps of air, “I can’t…” he sobs, because it’s overwhelming. It’s a maelstrom and he’s stuck in the centre.

“Breathe,” Lydia drops to the floor next to him, “Stiles, breathe. Control it. Stiles.”

But he can’t. He’s having a panic attack right here and now because his senses are out of focus. Or in focus, everything blaring at him at once.

Then he’s not breathing, there is something warm against his mouth and he blinks, seeing Lydia right in front of him, one hand cupping his cheek and something in him just settles, seconds before she pulls back.

Her eyes find his. “Your eyes are gold.” She whispers.

Stiles swallows, finding he can breathe, “They turn that way when I… with the wolf.” He says. “You just kissed me.”

“It made you hold your breath.” She shrugs, “Stopped the panic attack.”

Stiles nods slowly. “Believe in werewolves now?”

She nods unwillingly. “What happened?”

“My hearing is over sensitive. Hyper sensitive.” Stiles shrugs, “Smells too but it’s all… just overwhelming. It’s usually bearable with… y’know… the headphones… but on the full moon it’s like that. Ever present. Constant. And school… a thousand heart beats all at once, the bells, the pencils on paper and teachers all talking and books rustling…” he shudders, “It’s like Clark Kent - and don’t get me wrong, I’m a Batman fan - but it’s like when Clark gets his superhearing and eyesight and can’t cope. Basically: Not good.”

Lydia shoots him a deadpan expression.

“Ah,” Stiles coughs, “Not a Superhero fan, then?”

“There is a werewolf sitting on my sofa.” She says snidely, “I think you’re in the wrong genre. I’ve tried to phone Scott, but Scott’s not answering. You don’t know what to do… Derek looks like he’s dying…”

Stiles tries Scott, but Lydia’s right. “Scott could get into the Argent house,” he says, chewing a lip.

“Why the Argents, anyway?” Lydia frowns.

“They’re werewolf hunters.”

“You’re joking.”

“Unfortunately, no.”

“Well then,” Lydia smiles, “That means there is another option.

Stiles just stares. “No. No no…”

“Yes.” Lydia pulls out her phone and dials the number, “Allison.”

 

“You want me to what?” Allison frowns, “A bullet?”

“Yes. For a school project.” Lydia smiles. Allison can hear it even over the phone.

“But…” the phone clunks a bit and then Stiles’ voice can be heard, “We need a specific bullet. I was… uh… your dad… he mentioned to my dad, who’s the Sheriff, that your aunt had special bullets made for… uh… hunting. And she has a box of these, and we could ask for one, but we know how expensive they are and…”

“And…” Lydia snatches the phone back, “We need it. Please, Allison. Please.”

Allison frowns, “I… do I have to steal it? I can’t just ask…”

“No!” there is a symphony from both of them, “No.” Stiles says again, “Kate can’t know it’s gone. She’ll get suspicious…”

“She’ll get worried.” Lydia interrupts and takes over, “But this experiment… uh… project… I know what I’m doing. I’m a genius.”

“She really is…”

Allison feels twisted with guilt inside. She can’t just steal… not from her aunt…

But then again her aunt has been lying to her. Her aunt and father and a spark of rebellion lights within her. “Okay.” She agrees. “Okay.”

“Great. And if Scott phones, tell him to call me!”

“Scott?” she frowns, “Scott is over here, with me.”

“ _Still_?”

“Yeah, he’s staying for dinner.”

One of the pair on the other end of the phone swears. Allison thinks it might be Lydia, but she’s not sure. “Get Scott to help. Or distract and work together. You can tell Scott. But nobody else.”

“Alright.” Allison nods, treating this like a mission. Mission ‘steal a bullet from her aunt’s stuff’.

There have been weirder things she’s done.

 

“Mr. Argent,” Scott says as they sit down. “Thank you for having me for dinner.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Chris replies, smoothing his lips out so that he’s not even close to smiling. “We’d never have you for dinner. Victoria hunted something up for us at the supermarket instead.”

Scott gulps. “Uh… right.”

Allison wants to hit her head against the table.

It’s okay though. Things can’t exactly get much worse.

Except then they can. Scott begins talking about how he works at the animal clinic, Allison chimes in with how he helped her with a dog, leaving off the bit of information about how she almost ran it down. She talks about how good Scott is with animals, and how the dog didn’t bark with him.

But it’s just an opportunity for her dad to start talking about rabid dogs. “Something that out of control is better off dead,” he says and for some reason Scott looks like he thinks her dad might want to shoot him personally, and so she tries to save the last five minutes of dinner.

“Maybe we could talk about something more cheerful. This isn’t exactly dinner conversation and I swear, Scott, we don’t usually talk about stuff like this.” She shoots him an apologetic look.

“My daughter’s right,” Victoria admits. She offers Scott an apologetic head nod. To be more accurate it is a very, very discreet nod. Barely a tilt of the head really. Allison wouldn’t be surprised if Scott didn’t get the apology.

“She’s what?” Chris asks, looking utterly betrayed.

“I’m what?” Allison asks at the same time as her father before quickly covering up her surprise with a determined, “I mean that’s right I am.” She shoves her chair out backwards, “I’m going to show Scott some of my shooting. See how good he is and how bad I’ve gotten.” She makes her grin mischievous. “Coming, Scott?”

“Wait…” Kate leans forwards, looking like she’s disappointed that the conversation about blood and killing is over, “What about dessert?”

“I’m not really hungry,” Allison shrugs, “Are you, Scott?”

“No,” he shakes his head, “Thank you for dinner, Mrs Argent, Mr Argent…” he blinks at Kate, unsure of how to address her.

“Call me Kate,” her aunt laughs, “None of that Ms Argent stuff.” She laughs, but her eyes spark with something that makes Allison want to protect Scott.

She’s being ridiculous. Her parents lie to her once and now she’s seeing stuff where there isn’t anything.

“I don’t think I’ll be that good at shooting,” Scott admits to her as she pulls him out into the corridor.

Allison grabs onto his jumper, letting the door closed and being sure that her parents can’t hear her, she tugs him down the corridor. “We’re not going to try archery. Maybe another time.” She tries not to think about the implication that there is going to be another time and a time after that. “Stiles and Lydia phoned.”

“What?” Scott’s face falls, then twists in confusion, “Stiles and _Lydia?_ ”

Allison frowns, because apparently Scott didn’t know they were hanging out doing ‘projects’ together. “Yeah, they said they’re doing this experiment thing and they asked me to steal a bullet. From my aunt.”

“A bullet.” Scott’s face is pale, “From your aunt.”

“Stop repeating everything I just said,” Allison chides.

“And you’re doing it?” Scott sounds disbelieving.

She’s still doubting that herself, but she nods, “Yes,” she says, slipping the door to her aunt’s room open and dragging Scott in with her. “Yes. I think they’re lying through their teeth but…”

But I think my parents and aunt are lying to me.

But I think you and Lydia and Stiles are lying to me.

But I want to go through my aunt’s bags anyway.

But I want to do something reckless.

She closes the door behind them.

 

There are weapons.

That’s the first thing she realises. Her aunt has lots of weapons.

Worse: all of them are cleaned and look well used. Each have a stock of ammunition and are neatly packed away with care.

Her dad sells weapons, but her aunt…? She’s not in that business. She has no reason to have all these guns and rifles and if that a crossbow?

“What if they catch us?” Scott frets, “What if your aunt comes back?”

It’s a good point, and Allison sorts it out by opening a side packet and slipping out a box. Scott’s eyes widen dramatically as Allison retrieves a small square foil package. “What?” he asks, short of breath.

She grins, slightly embarrassed, “Just in case,” she teases him, but slips it into a pocket. “As a cover,” she says, “Looking at how dinner went, they wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Your dad will castrate me,” Scott hisses.

Allison is about to reply but is interrupted by the sound of a phone vibrating. It’s not Scott’s. His is still off from their make out session earlier. It’s hers and she tugs it out, seeing an unknown number. She answers it anyway and Stiles’ voice can be heard on the other end.

“Allison? Have you found it yet? I mean… we don’t want to rush you but we need it kind of urgently.” His voice sounds strained and then his voice goes quiet as he holds the phone away from his mouth. “Oh god,” Allison hears weakly, “Are you serious? You have your serious face on, but with those eyebrows, I can’t really tell and…”

“I think when Derek says ‘it’s going to spread to his heart and kill him’ he means it,” Lydia’s voice drifts over. Scott grabs the phone from Allison’s puzzled grasp.

“Stiles?” he asks, “What… what is it?” he casts a nervous glance at Allison.

“Uh… we need a bullet. Remember last night and the 48 hour thing, yeah, well we’re got… uh… you know who here and he’s… injured… so we need another. Should be special… wolfsbane…”

“You mean Monkshood?” Allison tugs out a box with a flower carved on the side. She opens the box and there are bullets, lined neatly.

Except for the spot where there is one missing.

“Hurry, Scott!” Stiles says, “His arm is almost purple and the wound looks infected.”

“He’s dying, you idiot,” Lydia hisses, and Allison freezes.

“It’s their project,” Scott offers her a weak smile, “Aconite for healing… and this species… Nordic… Blue Monkshood…” he looks at the box, “It has healing properties.”

He’s lying. Allison knows it. First her dad, then Kate, then Lydia and Stiles and Scott and she just nods. “Grab one then.” She gestures.

Scott’s words from earlier come back to her. ‘Provided you don’t go shooting little furry critters’.

She’s stealing a bullet from her aunt’s bag that looks hand crafted and expensive. There’s one missing before they’ve even stolen one, which means one must have been used.

And on the phone Stiles and Lydia are talking about a ‘wound’ and ‘how bad it looks’ and there is a bullet missing and soon there will be another one gone and Allison knows what it means.

Her aunt has shot someone.

Not something.

Some _one_.

‘Little furry critter’ Scott had said, when he really meant ‘someone’.

Her aunt has shot someone.

Which only raises the question… does he dad know?

Has her dad shot people as well?

 

They get off the phone with Scott and Allison, and Lydia has no idea how they are going to explain this to Allison. Maybe with a sentence that doesn’t have werewolves in, but that makes things difficult.

Derek is still shifting around, trying and failing to pace. He grabs onto Lydia’s mantelpiece to steady himself and Stiles steps forwards, looking concerned. “What are you doing? Dude you should be resting! Moving around will only make the poison spread faster…”

“Do you have any tools? Knives… chain saws…”

“Chain saws?” Stiles squawks, “What for?”

“If the poison spreads any further, one of you two is going to have to cut off my arm.”

Lydia blinks, because yeah, if Scott doesn’t get here in time then that will work too. Especially if werewolves have magic healing powers.

“Positivity just isn’t in your vocabulary, is it?” Stiles sighs, and that’s when the rest of the phrase ‘cut of arm’ hits her.

That’s going to be messy, she thinks.

Really messy.

 

It almost all fails. For all Allison has helped them, not even knowing what she is doing, she helps them once more when Kate clears her throat and leans on the door. “Uh uh. Before you go… Scott… I’d like you to admit what you took from my room?”

“What?” Scott blinks, a deer in the spotlights.

And that’s when Allison pulls out the condom she’d taken. “It wasn’t Scott who took something from your bag. It was me.”

Her dad looks pale and Kate looks almost impressed. Scott’s had enough of the Argents for the day (except for Allison). He gets out of there as soon as possible, grabbing his bicycle and thankful for the werewolf stamina as he peddles to Lydia’s lakehouse.

He’s never been to the house at the south of the town but he finds his way there easily enough. Nobody is outside, but he sees Stiles’ jeep and another car which must be Lydia’s, since it still has a learner’s sign stuck in the window.

He opens the door. It’s unlocked.

Inside the sound of voices drift towards him.

“You faint at the sight of blood.”

“No, but I might at the sight of a chopped off arm.”

“How about nobody chops off any arms,” Scott says, eyeing up Lydia who just rolls her eyes at his timely arrival.

“Thank god,” she breathes, “The blood stains would have never come out.”

Stiles looks traumatised and he gestures at Derek, as if Scott hasn’t already seen the werewolf standing pale and ill looking, his arm a funny black colour that it definitely should not be. “He got shot by Kate last night. A wolfsbane bullet. We needed another one and you weren’t answering your phone…”

“So you phoned Allison?” a fragment of resentment makes itself known, “What am I going to tell her? How the hell am I going to explain why you guys needed her to steal a bullet and I needed to take it to you. Urgently?”

Stiles curls his lip a little, and it’s a small step away from a snarl, “I’m sorry if I ruined things with your little girlfriend, but we had bigger things to worry about!”

“Don’t worry about Allison,” Lydia interrupts, snidely, “I’ll talk things through with her. Maybe not in as many words as necessary, but I’ll make her understand.”

Scott turns away, but Stiles is still glaring at him. Scott feels like he’s made a wrong move somewhere. “What do we do wth it?” he waves the bullet around.

Derek snatches it from him. “We need to…” he waves it about, but Scott can see his eyes growing out of focus, and he can predict that he’s going to fall before he does.

What he doesn’t predict is the way the bullet slips from numb fingers towards the floor.

Stiles catches it, almost without thinking. “Huh.” He considers. “Maye I should consider playing lacrosse,” he blinks, and that’s when Derek finally goes down, hard, to the floor. His claws are out and they scratch against the floorboards as the werewolf’s green eyes flutter closed.

“I hope he doesn’t scratch the floor.”

Scott doesn’t quite know how to deal with this. Lydia knows… Lydia _knows_ and she’s worried about the floor, while Stiles is still contemplating the bullet.

Scott drops to his knees, because they have no idea what to do. But Derek does, and so Scott punches Derek in the face. It’s satisfying in a way. It makes Scott feel better about all of this, the werewolf issue, the fact that Allison knows something is going on, the fact the Argents want to kill him and the fact that Lydia now knows too. And Stiles is standing there arguing with Lydia about blood stains as if nothing else matters.

His fist collides with a warm hand before he can punch the other werewolf for a third time. Derek is blinking up at him. “Lighter,” he croaks out, gaze drifting out of focus. Stiles and Lydia stop arguing long enough to crouch down and help Derek into a sitting position as Lydia produces a lighter from somewhere.

“What do we do?” she asks, eyes bright, “You need to use it as an antidote, right, but how…?”

Derek grabs the bullet from Stiles and snaps it open with a twist of his fingers. Black powder pours out and Stiles flinches back and Derek just lets it fall through his fingers.

Then he flicks the lighter and the stuff ignites like gunpowder. Scott is pretty sure it’s not meant to do that but there is a sharp smell of ozone in the air, and Stiles is moving even further back and that suggests that he can smell it too.

The black powder burns and crumples into ash, which Derek smears onto his fingertips. Scott is sceptical, hell even Lydia is sceptical, but then Derek is smearing it like some sort of paste over the wound with clumsy fingers.

He’s barely done that than he’s sinking down, and Scott and Lydia have to support his full weight. Derek’s face crumples in pain and Scott can literally see the moment the black spreading through his veins changes its mind and decides to retreat back to the wound, burning off in a hiss of smoke.

“Holy fu--“ Stiles whistles.

“Are you okay?” Scott asks.

“Apart from the agonising pain.”

“I guess the ability to use sarcasm is a good sign of health.”

“Oh god,” Now the imminent threat of Derek dying is over, Scott’s worries about Allison knowing come back to hit him. “What am I going to tell Allison?”

“You can’t tell her anything,” Derek growls, “She’s an Argent. They can’t be trusted.”

“Oh yeah?” Scott snaps back, “What’s to stop me going back to that house and telling them all about you?”

Stiles hisses and Lydia glances between Scott and Derek, sensing the distrust. Derek just glares right back at Scott. “You trust them? I’ll show you exactly how nice they are.”

That’s how Scott meets Peter Hale.

 

“Hi, it’s me… just to apologise for that terrible dinner… and my aunt and my dad and basically sorry…” It’s cold outside, and it bites at her fingers but she won’t be out here long. “Also I hope everything went okay with the bullet. I… don’t worry about it and… well…Look, I know you’re into something but I’m… I’m not going to ask. You can tell me when you’re ready. I’ll see you soon. Lo--“ the voice mail cuts off and it’s just as well, because her last words sit heavy on her tongue.

Had she really been about to--?

No-- Allison isn’t that sort of girl. Not really.

She is about to turn to go back inside when the streetlight catches something in a glint. She pauses and turns back to where her aunt’s car is parked from the grocery shopping. At least… they’d come home with groceries, but…

She steps forwards, and something crunches underfoot. Stepping back she crouches, picking out the spots of shining crystals on the concrete.

No, not crystals. Glass. It’s small pieces of shattered glass. They are scattered around the driver’s door and when Allison stands, there are a few fragile crystals along the left door window.

The window itself is new. Unbroken.

Shiny new.

She doesn’t stay; she backs away towards the warmth and safety of her house. She slips in, the door clinking shut and she freezes, trying to control her breathing.

Voices drift in through from where her dad and aunt sit in the living room. She wants to go to them, wants to know the truth but at the same time she wants to forget about all of this.

It’s the indecision that has her lingering just long enough for the words to become clear in her mind.

“The code is there for a reason,” her dad is saying, and Allison wonders what this code is she’s never heard about. She stands near to the doorway just close enough to see her aunt standing with her back to the fire place, and her father sitting on the sofa.

“Of course.” Kate’s smile scares her, and she flinches back as her aunt’s face becomes illuminated with firelight. Her aunt’s eyes dance in the flare from the match, and her lips curl a little too gleefully as she throws the flame into the fireplace.

Allison thinks again about wolfsbane bullets and guns and broken glass and Derek Hale and her aunt smiling at the fire that burnt in her hand.

Allison doesn’t sleep well that night.


	9. Breathe

“Lydia, I swear to god you’re going to like it.”

“No.”

She may now know about werewolves and the concept that there are other things that go bump in the night now exist, but some things never change. She sits in the driver’s seat outside Video 2*C and Jackson is looking furiously at her from the passenger’s seat.

“I am not watching ‘The Notebook’ again!”

She just shoots him a smirk. She’s got him so well trained.

With a sigh he slams open the car door and stalks towards the store. Triumphantly Lydia pulls out her phone and dials a number in idle boredom while she waits. “So only alpha werewolves can turn people.” She begins, “What does that make you?”

“Jesus, Lydia, hello to you too,” Stiles grumbles on the other end of the phone, “And…” he clears his throat, “Beta.” He replies, curtly.

In the background Lydia can hear another voice, “That’s Lydia on the phone? Wait… Lydia _Martin_? _That_ Lydia?”

Ignoring this, Lydia nods to herself, “And the power to pass on the bite also manifests in red eyes? What about the shift? Do you ever turn into proper wolves or do you just have a change in hair.”

“I don’t know,” Stiles bites out, “I can’t see myself. But the big guy loses his eyebrows. Like. Entirely. I don’t know where they go.”

“You mean Derek?”

“My dad is sitting right here, Lydia.” And oh, Lydia thinks, that explains Stiles’ avoidance of certain terms. “Where are you anyway?”

“Video rental store.” She eyes the store which has just gone dark in front of her. She wonders if they’re having power problems or something. “Hanging out with Jackson. Don’t say anything.”

“Well I’m not the one who has to date him and _no_ \- _dad - you are not allowed the curly fries._ ” Lydia hears Stiles’ dad’ talking. Stiles scoffs back to his father. “If you think getting rid of contractions in your sentences makes your argument any more legitimate then you ARE wrong.”

There is a crash from the building in front of her.

“What was that?” Stiles asks into the phone.

Lydia frowns, “I don’t know,” she peers at the dark store, “Uh… you mind holding on. I’m just going to take a look.”

“You know in movies leaving your car never ends well.”

“I’m not living in a movie, Stiles.” She says, and she pushes her door open, just as the glass of the store shatters.

Something explodes outwards with fur and red eyes and snarling teeth and it crashes past, not even swerving around the door and Lydia snatches her hand back, eyes closing and her body tensing as whatever it is just rips the door right off the hinges.

“What the hell--“ she hears over the phone, but something is snarling and glaring red eyes and dark fur and Lydia just gives into instinct.

She screams.

 

Derek sits with Scott on the roof, eyeing the scene below them. Stiles and the Sheriff turn up almost immediately, and Derek sees the beta talking with the girl - Lydia - who they had been with the other day. She’s waving her hands around angrily and snapping at him in hushed tones. The pair shut up instantly when Jackson approaches, and Lydia shoots Stiles a meaningful looks and allows herself to be coddled by the other boy, while Stiles backs off for his father to step forwards.

Derek’s weight shifts uneasily. “Starting to get it?”

Scott clears his throat as they wheel the body out, and his nose wrinkles from the scent of blood, “He’s killing people. I don’t understand why? I mean… do all alphas go out murdering everyone? Is that a thing? I mean I woke up in the woods naked, and Stiles woke up having killed a mountain lion, but this? Do we do this?”

The older beta glances down at where Stiles is eyeing the crime scene. He glances up at them, shooting the pair a weird look. Scott waves. Derek shouldn’t be surprised that the kid know they’re there considering his hypersensitive senses, but somehow he is. Stiles is pale and dorky and not exactly the prime of anything, let alone being a werewolf. Yet he and Scott are equally matched, even if Derek keeps forgetting that.

“We’re predators,” Derek says, quoting what Talia used to tell him, “Not killers.”

Stiles looks back up at them at that.

“Then why is he killing?” Scott asks, and Derek sees Stiles begin to slip away, the young beta moving around to meet up with them. Derek pulls Scott away, so he can talk to the pair of them somewhere more preferable.

“That’s what we’re going to find out.”

 

Derek’s old house is cold and far too empty. He rounds on Stiles and Scott, but feeling like he might be too threatening, he ends up taking a seat on the stairs.

“Seriously, dude,” Stiles wrinkles his nose, “Do you live here?”

He doesn’t bother answering the beta. He’s got a motel booked for showering and eating, but he honestly prefers to camp out here. It’s unhealthy, but he thinks he kind of deserves it. To sleep in the ashes of what he had wrought.

“How do you cook?” Scott frowns.

“I eat all my meals raw,” Derek snaps back. Stiles gapes at him, startled at the joke.

“Well I don’t.” Scott snaps, “And I don’t want to! I want to be normal!”

Stiles scoffs, “I think normal flew out of the window pretty long ago.”

“Well it’s okay for you!” Scott whines, clawing at his hair, “You don’t have to meet up with the Argents every time you want to see your girlfriend.”

“That’s because I don’t have a girlfriend.” Stiles pats his friend’s back. “But otherwise I’m in the same predicament as you. You think they’ll care which of us they get to put a bullet in next time, as long as we’re dead?”

Scott turns to look at Derek, “And the alpha? He wants us too… as some sort of pet or…”

“Pack.” Derek corrects. “Part of his pack. You kill with him, you join his pack. Or he kills you.”

Scott looks traumatised, while his friend just looks contemplative. “Seriously, who made up these rules?” he asks, “It’s like some sort of sick rite of passage.”

“Can’t you track his scent?” Scott asks.

“The scent changes from human to wolf. Our best way to find him is to use your link to him, but to use that you need to learn to control your abilities.”

He hears Stiles’ breathing pick up and the teenager steps back, eyes flashing gold with the sudden rush of emotion. “No way. I don’t like feeling him there inside my head. It feels… it’s like standing on a cliff about to fall. Or a panic attack waiting to happen. Or…” Scott grabs onto Stiles’ bicep, and the physical anchor seems to calm Stiles down.

“So you’re going to teach us?” Scott asks. “Teach us what?”

“First lesson?” Derek asks, and then he stands fluidly in one swift motion, grabs onto the hand Scott has on Stiles’ upper arm and twists the wrist. It achieves the purpose of breaking Scott’s wrist and digging the one boy’s fingers into Stiles’ arm. Both hiss and pull back.

“What the hell?” Stiles snaps.

“It will heal.” Derek says, simply. “But what’s the lesson? Remember when you were shot in the arm, Scott? That first night? What happened?”

“I changed back,” Scott cradles his wrist shooting Derek a betrayed glare.

“Pain,” Stiles is far too clever for his own good, “Pain keeps you human.” He realises.

Derek smiles in satisfaction, stepping back up the stairs as he turns to leave, “Maybe you will survive.”

 

The necklack around her neck feels heavier than it should. Which is stupid. It’s just a necklace. A family heirloom, Kate had said, and encouraged her to look up about it.

‘Some mysteries are worth the effort’ Kate had said, but Allison couldn’t stop thinking about how some secrets did nothing but hurt.

She loves the necklace, and she loves the gesture. It’s her birthday and she’s smiling, even though it might not last through school.

It doesn’t make the niggling feeling in the back of her mind go away, nor does fact the symbol on the pendant is a large dog.

But to Allison it looks just a bit like a wolf.

She’s still thinking about it when she reaches her locker, about wolves and wolfsbane bullets and she’s not thinking at all, which is why she’s so startled when balloons burst out of her locker.

 “Is it your birthday?” Scott appears out of nowhere, smiling at her attempts to stuff the balloons back in the locker out of sight.

“No, no, uh no - I mean - uh - yespleasedon’ttellanybody.” She takes a deep breath and shoves the card with Lydia’s neat cursive writing on it back in the locker. “I don’t even know how Lydia found out.”

“Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

She glances around before whispering her answer. “Because I’m seventeen.”

“You’re _seventeen_.”

“That’s the reaction I’m trying to avoid.” She narrows her eyes at him. He doesn’t get it. He’s no different from any of the other students and their whispers. ‘What - Did you get held back ?’ ‘Did you ride the short bus?’ ‘Did you have a baby?’ She’s sick of it, and now she gets to hear it from Scott as well. She doesn’t need that.

But then he continues eyes wide and looking like a lost puppy. “Why? I mean I totally get it. You had to repeat a year because of all the moving around, right?”

She kisses him because he does get it. Because maybe for the first time ever, she’s found someone who gets her.

She just wishes it was as easy for her to do the same.

 

“Everyone, start reading Chapter Nine. Mr. Stilinski. Try putting the highlighter down between paragraphs. It's chemistry, not a colouring book.”

Stiles chews disgustedly on the highlighter lid and spits it into the air, catching it and capping his pen as he looks around. No Scott, but he’s not surprised. His headphones are in his bag because Harris absolutely hates them, and so Stiles heard their conversation about skipping class. It means Scott is going to be out with Allison all day, and come back with stars in his eyes.

It would be cute if it wasn’t so ridiculously sappy.

“Where is Scott?” Lydia turns around from two desks forwards from him.

“It’s Allison’s birthday.”

“I know that,” she sniffs, but leans back and looks back to her text book. She’s already read chapter 9, Stiles notices, and is currently on a later chapter near the end of the whole book. It’s the section on genetics and he just knows she’s going to start asking him about what his DNA now looks like considering he’s no longer completely human.

“Hey, Danny,” he asks instead, leaning forwards, “Can I ask you a question?”

Danny doesn’t even turn around. “No.” he says and Stiles wants to bare his fangs in frustration to maybe threaten him but--

No, no, that’s not good. That’s the kind of thing a killer alpha would do.

“Well I’m going to anyway,” he shrugs, “Did Jackson tell you what happened last night?”

“No.”

Stiles takes a moment to work out if this is an answer or a refutation to answer the question. He assumes the first and continues. “Can I ask you another question?”

“The answer is still ‘no’.”

“Did he see anything?”

“I don’t know…”

“But you’re his best friend.”

“He won’t tell me.”

“One more question.”

“What?”

“Do you find me attractive?”

Stiles likes to think that Danny had lifted his head up to quietly contemplate the answer and maybe even Stiles in general, and not to frown in confusion at the board as if he doubts what he just heard, but while Lydia claims the latter, Stiles will never quite be sure because for all his werewolf skills, he still manages to slip off his stool and almost face plant into the floor.

 

“My dad will kill me if he finds out.” Allison admits to him.

“You always follow your dad’s rules?”

“Not lately.” She says, and there is doubt in her voice. She looks out of the window as she pulls up the car by the side of the woods, slipping the hand brake on and cutting the engine. “Look, I know you were lying about the bullet.” She says, suddenly, “But I’m not going to ask what it was really for. Just know that… I’m here…” she looks to him, “I’m here when you want to finally tell me. Okay?”

“It’s not that simple,” Scott says gravely, “It’s dangerous and more complicated and…”

“I don’t care,” she whispers, and she leans across to kiss him. “Now let’s not talk about this anymore.”

Scott can get behind that, as he slides out of the car and they head up to the woods. This will be just a day for the two of them. Just him and Allison having fun, to make her birthday the best day ever.

He can do that.

No werewolves, no alphas, no Derek Hale, just him and Allison.

He smiles and lets all his worries fall away.

 

“So what am I doing here again?”

Danny looks out of place in Stiles’ bedroom, sitting at the desk chair and staring at the computer because he doesn’t want to see where Lydia and Stiles are staring at him expectantly.

“We.” Lydia grins, “Need you to hack into the security camera feed for the whole town.”

“Unless you can’t do it,” Stiles shrugs.

“What makes you think I can do it in the first place?” Danny turns to them, Lydia on the bed and Stiles standing with his arms crossed. Stiles looks nervously at Lydia and then shrugs.

“I looked up your arrest record.”

Danny looks alarmed. “I was thirteen. They dropped the charges.”

“Point still stands,” Lydia shrugs, “You can do it. So do it.” Stiles admires her poker face as she glares Danny into sighing, throwing up his hands and turning back to the computer. With a huff he gets to work, keys tapping away merrily beneath his fingers. Lydia turns to Stiles, voice barely a whisper but Stiles hears it perfectly of course. “You said your father had some shots?”

Stiles unobtrusively taps on a folder he’s got sitting on his desk, and Lydia nods. The pair stay silent, letting Danny work. He finishes up after a long period of typing and clicking away. “Okay, so there they all are,” he gestures at the screen, “Every camera in Beacon Hills. You two owe me so much for this.”

“Of course,” Lydia says, but she’s already distracted by the images on the screen. She slides into the seat almost as soon as Danny vacates it, leaving Stiles standing and peering over her shoulder. Danny looks between the two of them and the screen.

“I take it we’re not going to get any chemistry done?” he asks with a sigh, “We’ll meet up another time, then.”

“Later,” Stiles mumbles as his door closes, video already playing as Lydia flicks through several clips.

“There has to be at least hours of footage to watch.” She mumbles, “With all the cameras and the time frame that’s at least…”

Stiles stops her before she can calculate the math, “A lot,” he says, nodding, “So.” He rubs his hands together. “We better get started then. But we’ll find him. We’ll find something.” He tosses open the folder on the desk, “This is our starting point. Frames from this camera,” he opens the camera record in question. And then pushes the pictures towards Lydia.

She looks through them. “It looks like a bear,” she frowns. “But bears drop from two legs to four, not rise up.”

“So it’s our alpha,” Stiles says, and then wrinkles his nose at his words, “I mean… it’s the alpha werewolf, I guess. He turns into…” he flicks out the first image, “That.” He gestures to the large black shape, shuddering.

He can’t see the red eyes on the picture but he knows they’re there.

Lydia shivers a little bit too, and the second picture shows how far the door was wrenched of the car, shows the impact as the shape just blurs up and around, straightening into a human like form and then vanishing out of the shot.

She opens a file, “Right, so this is the footage from the street…”

 

Derek runs through the woods away from the Hale house, hearing Kate’s laugh in the distance. It chases him, and he runs faster, alone and on his own. Derek knows his sister was killed by the alpha now. Killed and ripped in half. Which means it wasn’t a rogue alpha.

It was planned. It was planned and carried out to stop Laura coming back.

He’s angry. Angry at himself for letting Laura come back to Beacon Hills alone, angry at Laura for coming back in the first place, and angry at Kate for being able to goad him so easily, even after all these years.

Laura was killed, undoubtable for the alpha power. Maybe even bait as Kate seemed to think. The hunters are looking for the new alpha, just as much as Derek is. In some ludicrous story plots, this would be the point in which they teamed up.

This isn’t a story. This is real life and Kate would sooner shoot Derek than work with him.

Derek would sooner rip out her throat than do anything that even involves Kate’s name or presence.

 

_“Jackson's a highly motivated student. In fact, I'd describe him as "unusually driven."”_

_“Yeah, we were hoping he might ease up on himself a little. He's always been real hard on himself. It's just, you know, something we assumed was an effect of him being adopted.”_

_“I think I understand. He's never met his biological parents.”_

_“Yeah, that's right. It's the need to please, the overachieving, the desire to make someone proud - Someone he's never even met.”_

_“Something certainly seems to have recalibrated his desire for achievement several notches higher. Not to be too blunt about it, but he seems almost obsessed.”_

There is something going on with Scott McCall and Jackson is going to figure out what. He has to, there must be a reason that idiot became so good at lacrosse. It doesn’t just happen overnight.

The lacrosse ball hits the top of the tin and falls down and Jackson snarls in frustration. He can get this. He’s better than this. He’s brilliant.

Jackson is seriously starting to suspect that some weird shit is going on here. Not to mention Derek's Hale's stalking abilities are beginning to scare him, especially when he finds him in the locker room. At the very least, Jackson was dressed.

This time at least. Maybe not next time.

Derek and Scott and whatever Lydia has now gotten into, hanging around with Stilinski all the time, it’s all connected. There must be a link.

And Jackson is going to find it.

 

_“Let me tell you, there's plenty to say about Lydia.”_

_“What is it? Is it her grades, concentration issues, erratic behaviour? Just tell us what the problem is.”_

_“I wasn't aware that there was a problem. Academically, Lydia's one of the finest students I've ever had. Her A.P. classes push her GPA above a 5.0. I'd actually like to have her I.Q. tested. And socially, she displays outstanding leadership qualities. I mean, she's a real leader.”_

Werewolves are fascinating. Lydia can’t apply science to them and that makes them even more interesting.

They’re also dangerous. Lydia realised that when one broke out of a crime scene and took her car door clean off its hinges. She worked that out when Stiles snarled at her with gold eyes and honest to god fangs while Derek Hale lay dying on her sofa.

It’s not just the werewolves though. It’s the hunters and everything else.

Lydia shouldn’t be here. She’s sensible. She wants to pass all her exams with the highest grades possible, go off to college or university and get out of here.

But there are werewolves here.

And honestly, where else could she find that?

Maybe there are more, she considers, but she glances at Stiles who has his face glued to the laptop screen, but where else are there going to be werewolves and hunters and puzzles and friends and family all together wrapped up in one package?

Lydia used to pride herself on not getting close to anyone.

She’s broken her own rules, and yet she can’t find herself regretting it.

_“So, Stiles. Great kid. Zero ability to focus. Super smart. Never takes advantage of his talents.”_

_“How do you mean?”_

_“Well, for his final question on his midterm exam, he detailed the entire history of the male circumcision.”_

_“Well, I mean, it does have - historical significance, right? I mean -“_

_“I teach economics.”_

Lydia watches one video slowly and in great detail. On another laptop, Stiles opens four windows and plays them simultaneously, eyes darting from one to another as he tracks the progress of events. They’ve picked up movement that is definitely the same guy on another camera, but all you can see is his back and the corner of his head as it passes by the shot.

This is going to take time. And maybe they won’t find anything this evening, but they’ll persevere. They’ll find the alpha.

Stiles wonders what they’re going to do when they find him. Are they going to kill him? That would be best, logically. It would stop the murders and ensure their safety. It would end all of this. It wouldn’t change him and Scott from being werewolves, but it would stop the murders.

It wouldn’t stop the hunters though. It wouldn’t stop the fact there are other monsters of the night out there.

Maybe they should just persuade him to stop killing. Talk to the guy. And then sit down and stop the hunters.

Stiles doesn’t know. He has no idea and he’s so out of his depths it scares him. He’s sitting here with Lydia freaking Martin looking for the identity of an alpha werewolf who turned Stiles and Scott into werewolves.

The videos on the screen fade and with a sigh, Stiles opens four new ones, finds the correct time slot and starts them up, settling back for a long night.

 

_“Lately Scott's mind has been somewhere else, as has his body. Personally, I think it may have something to do with his home situation. Uh, specifically the lack of an authority figure. Allow me to clarify. I mean the lack of a male authority figure.”_

_“Oh. Well, trust me, we're much better off without him in the picture.”_

_“Well, does Scott feel the same way ?”_

_“Yes. I think so. I hope so.”_

_“But he's going through some difficult changes. He just needs a - little extra attention, a guiding hand through this crucial stage of his development.”_

His eyes flare in from the head lights of cars passing by. He only notices when he sees it in the mirror, and then he’s ducking down, hiding his face.

Everything is just too far out of his control for his liking anymore. He can’t cope, can’t deal. He’s relying on Stiles and Lydia to work everything out, for Derek to train and teach him, for Allison to just be there, to be normal for him.

Scott isn’t doing anything. He’s sitting on an island letting the sea wash around him.

He needs to take action. He needs to do something.

Especially when sitting around doing nothing might get somebody else killed.

 

_“Allison Argent. An incredibly sweet girl. And quick to adjust, despite all the moving around.”_

_“We know it's hard on her, but, uh, it's a necessary evil.”_

_“Necessary or not, I'd be prepared for some - How do I put this?”_

_“Rebelliousness?”_

_“We appreciate the concern, but we have a great relationship with our daughter. Very open and honest.”_

She sees her dad’s face when he shoots the cougar and is almost wary to approach him after that. The parking lot had been chaotic and she had clung to Scott and Melissa, hanging back while her dad had calmly walked forwards and drawn his gun.

He didn’t look sorry. He looked used to it, as if he’d seen plenty of animals die.

She thinks of her aunt and wolfsbane bullets. She thinks of her dad and the cougar dying from his gun shot.

Allison is so, so close she can almost grasp it. But everything is still out of reach, still not quite there. So she hangs onto Scott and doesn’t let go. She listens to her parents and aunt talk and she phones up Lydia, listening to the dial tone.

She’s on the wrong side of this, but not for long.

There is a necklace around her neck and on it is a symbol. Family history.

And for the first time Allison thinks that maybe it’s all connected. Her family with Scott’s secrets and Lydia and Stiles and wolfsbane bullets.

Her thumb brushes over the engraving of the wolf and she thinks, at least she has somewhere to start.


	10. Control

Stiles is having a panic attack.

He's not sure exactly what brought it on.

Actually, he knows exactly what brought it on, but it currently feels like he's drowning, lungs bursting for air and he just can't breathe. His chest is tight like there are steel clamps over his chest and his claws scratch bloody lines into his skin as he doubles over, trying to suck in oxygen.

The pull of the alpha has faded, the tug and the urge to run through the forest and howl at the moon… or whatever else they should be doing. It's the call of pack though, of family, and Stiles was half-way in the process of climbing out of his window before he realised it.

That hadn't been what set off the panic attack though.

That had been caused by the knowledge that Stiles wanted to go. He wanted to have a pack.

He wanted all of this.

Stiles feels his teeth pierce his lip, and a whine escapes his throat. He stumbles, half trips into the bathroom and grabs onto the sink for support.

His eyes catch in the mirror and he freezes, staring at the blazing gold colour in them. He's seen Scott, when wolfed out, but not himself.

The first thing he actually notices is that thank god he's growing his buzzcut out, because if so he'd look very weird. Possible because his sideburns have extended slightly. Not as much as Scott's did, and it actually doesn't look bad. There's something about his face, maybe the angle or maybe the light that makes his features look elongated, as if they're almost bestial. Almost wolf-like. His ears have twisted in shape, becoming pointed at the tips but beyond that the only visible difference is the glowing eyes and way his mouth has twisted into a snarl, showing his fangs.

He hears the growl in his throat and it chokes out into a desperate attempt for air.

Downstairs a door slams open and Stiles can hear his heartbeat splutter.

His dad's home.

"Stiles!" comes the expected call and then the creak of floorboards.

Stiles panics. His dad can't see him like this. He can't.

"Stiles? You home?"

"One minute!" Stiles shouts, but he's shouting around fangs and still trying to breath and it's a weak spluttering shout that does the opposite of intended.

"Are you okay?"

His dad is on the stairs now, and Stiles can hear his father's heartbeat, quiet breaths and he clenches his eyes closed, trying to force the shift down, trying to breath, trying to listen to his father…

It's too much but not enough. The door opens. Stiles listens to the reassuring heartbeat, the soft rise and fall of his dad's chest as he crosses the few metres to where Stiles is. One hand falls onto Stiles' shoulder and he opens his eyes.

First he sees his father's concerned gaze, and then his eyes dart to the mirror.

His eyes are brown.

His breath still comes out in little pants, and his dad is talking, telling him to breath, and Stiles knows it's all going to be okay, because his father is here now.

The Sheriff looks worried when Stiles crashes into his arms. It's safety and security and most of all, it's humanity. The tug and feeling of pack is gone now, and Stiles is human and his eyes are brown and that's good enough for him.

He just needs to remember that.

 

"So I can control the shift," Stiles corners Scott before school. He stops Scott in the car park when he’s barely put his bike on the rack, dragging him over to his jeep and blurting it out.

Scott pauses for a moment, trying to work out what he's talking about, and then he breaks into a grin, "Really? How?!"

Stiles taps Scott's chest, "Your heartbeat." he says, "Listen to it. Keep it low. The higher it is, the more likely you are to wolf out."

Scott sighs, "So stay away from lacrosse and Allison?" he asks.

"No," Stiles shakes his head, "Don't get angry. And find something to focus on. Something to anchor you."

Scott frowns, "What is it for you?"

"My dad." Stiles look nervous, chewing his lip, "I wolfed out last night, and I thought… I thought he'd see, but then he was there and I was human and it… it keeps the sounds at bay too, did you know? Everything is muted around him. He makes it all better. You do too, and Lydia. I'm just so focussed on you, I don't think about the other stuff, y'know? So you need to find something to focus on. Something, someone…"

Scott's mind races. A focus point. It could be anything. Family, friends… he listens to Stiles' heartbeat, loud and erratic, and it just puts him on edge. "How are we going to do that?"

He hates the grin that spreads over Stiles' face. "That…" he says, "…is where I have a plan. Stand there." He positions Scott into a potion, standing on the tarmac. Eyeing Scott, Stiles nods appreciatively and then hands him something.

“What?” Scott stares at Stiles as he positions his one hand in the air, “What am I doing?”

"Stay there, hold that and don't move." Stiles smirks, and then he pulls out his car keys and runs them down the side of a nearby car.

Scott gapes at him. Stiles turns to look at him in shock, "Dude!" he shouts, louder than necessary, "What the hell was that? What do you think you’re doing to that truck, bro?"

"Hey!" someone calls and Scott spins around. “What the hell?” They're staring at him. "What did you do to my car?!" Scott gapes, and then glances at his hand where he's holding keys.

He's going to kill Stiles.

 

She pages through old books, looking up French legends. The old books don’t have that much, so she’s got her laptop open in front of her with google up on the screen. She probably would have found it by herself eventually, but Kate seems to be eager for her to find out everything for herself anyway, so Allison doesn’t complain. She fakes an apology, acts the teenager girl and takes what she is given.

La Bete du Gevaudan.

It looks like a giant wolf. Allison leaves one tab open on her laptop and types into google ‘wolf’ + ‘wolfsbane’.

There are links to gaming sites, fonts, pages about how wolfsbane is poisonous. Then she finds a dictionary site which gives the etymology of the word, how it comes from the Ancient Greek λυκοκτόνον (lukoktonon), from λύκος (lukos, "wolf") + κτείνω (kteinō, "I kill"). Influenced by Latin lycoctonum. She browses through several wiki sites, closing the ones that are to do with a book series and pausing at the bottom of one.

In the section where the site gives links to other pages, there are two words. Two links, and it’s stupid, it really is, but Allison clicks on one. It turns out it doesn’t really matter which one she selects, because they both link to the same page.

_A werewolf, also known as a lycanthrope (from the Greek λυκάνθρωπος: λύκος, lykos, "wolf", and ἄνθρωπος, anthrōpos, "man")…_

She clicks control and f, typing in wolfsbane. There is only one match on the entire page.

_In medieval Europe, traditionally, there are three methods one can use to cure a victim of werewolfism; medicinally (usually via the use of wolfsbane)…_

Allison tries to think of what reason someone might use wolfsbane bullets, tries to think of a logical answer. She clicks the tabs close and stares at the picture of the Beast for a long moment. Decisively, Allison spins the laptop around towards Lydia, with the picture of the Beast enlarged for her. “What does this look like to you?”

Lydia looks up and doesn’t flinch. She just studies the image and presses her lips together in a thin line. “What is that?”

“The beast of Gevaudan. Listen. "A quadruped dog - like monster, prowling the Auvergne and south Dordogne areas of France during the year 1764 to 1767. La Bete killed over a hundred people, becoming so infamous that the King Louie the 15th sent one of his best hunters to try and kill it. Even the church eventually declared the monster a messenger of Satan. Cryptozoologists believe it may have been a subspecies of hoofed predator, possibly a mesonychid. While others believe it was a powerful sorcerer who could shape - shift into a man - eating monster. It is believed that la Bete was finally trapped and killed by a renown hunter who claimed his wife and four children were the first to fall prey to the creature.”

“And?” Lydia looks unimpressed.

Allison smiles, “His name was Argent."

She watches Lydia’s smile thin throughout her reading. Allison’s heart is racing, but she pretends not to notice Lydia’s reaction. She pushes the laptop screen towards her friend. “What does it look like?”

“It looks like a big. Dog.” She says, smiling blithely. “See you in history.”

That’s Allison’s answer. That’s her truth, that’s what she’s been searching for.

The secrets were almost easier to believe.

 

“I hate you.”

“But it worked.”

“I still hate you.”

“Hey, other option was stealing a heart monitor and Coach’s phone and chucking lacrosse balls at you.”

“Derek said to use anger,” Scott says mournfully, “Then he broke my phone and said ‘no Allison’.”

Stiles looks like he’s trying not to laugh. “I think he likes you. But then again he appeared in my room shirtless looking to borrow a shirt. Lydia wasn’t impressed. It’s almost a shame Danny left, he would have loved it.”

“Oh yeah? Well at least you don’t have Derek, creeping up on you, in a freaking parking lot!”

“Derek creeps up on everyone. Doesn’t mean you’re special,” Stiles grumbles.

“But it’s getting bad! I mean… he… the alpha scrawled a spiral into the condensation on my car window. What does that even mean? A freaking spiral? And it was when I was visiting Allison… oh god… what if it went and got her?”

“Calm down,” Stiles instructs. “Have you asked Derek?”

“He was lurking in my room.”

“As well? _Dude_.”

“Not like that. He wanted to ask about the alpha. But I… I didn’t know anything and Derek wouldn’t tell me.”

Stiles mutters something that sounds like a swear word under his breath. “We’re idiots for trusting him,” he says to the ceiling.

“Well at least,” Scott reflects, “I don’t have to stay away from Allison anymore. I was worried I’d end up like Derek. I mean, have you seen the guy? He’s totally alone. What if I had ended up like that?”

“That’s just depressing,” Stiles muses.

Harris hasn’t heard a word they’ve said, marking papers during the course of their detention.

“I don’t know why I have detention,” Stiles mumbles, “I didn’t even do anything.”

Scott shoots him a glare.

“And it smells like something is dying. Or rotting.” Stiles wrinkles his nose. “Considering I am probably smelling the boy’s locker room. That is disgusting.”

 

He doesn’t think he’s friends with Allison. Not like best buddies sharing everything. Not even someone he’d smile at when walking down the corridor and discuss homework with at lunch time.

But he thinks… they might be on the way to it. At least to being close acquaintances who respect each other.

Okay, so Jackson has an ulterior motive. He wants to know what’s going on with McCall, he wants to manipulate McCall and have something he can hold over the other boy. Something precious that he can damage or steal away.

He’s not meant to like her so much dammit.

She’s not Lydia. She’s not brilliant or beautiful (she’s hot and pretty but not Lydia beautiful) or even much of a leader.

She’s strong though, strong but shy and unsure of herself.

And she reminds Jackson of himself.

“Okay.” She says, firmly, “I - I believe you're being serious, but I'm not so sure I believe you're being sincere.” Jackson isn’t either. He doesn’t do apologies. He certainly doesn’t apologise for his own behaviour, for being a jerk to her and Scott.

Jackson Whittemore doesn’t do apologies.

Except apparently he does.

And Allison is giving him that little half smile as If in understanding. And so he ends up trying to explain how he feels.

“…like something’s been stolen from you. And then you start to feel like you'd do - anything. Anything in the world to get it back.” It’s not working. He’s sweating and he feels sick, but last time he tried to puke there were claws coming out of his mouth and flowers scattered around him and he doesn’t think he can even face seeing what he looks like in a mirror right now.

And she’s still got that stupid little half smile as if she knows he’s not talking about lacrosse or captaincy or even the popularity.

“You must really hate me,” he reflects.

“Not at all,” she shakes her head, and it’s just a little thing, just a few reassuring words, but it encourages him to lean forwards and ask. To show an interest in someone other than himself for a change.

“So what are you reading?”

 

Derek thinks it must be Peter.

He’s convinced it’s Peter right up until he marches into Beacons Crossing Home and stands in front of the man. It has to be Peter, he’s a werewolf already and he’s going after people connected to the fire and…

And Peter is sitting in a coma, staring into space.

Derek slumps, because it can’t be Peter. Peter is a beta. Peter is near dead. Peter is lost to him. His uncle can’t even stand, let alone rip apart three people. Derek reaches out, fingers so close to touching the comatose man but he flinches away, knowing the pain he’ll feel there. Not just physical pain, but the pain of abandonment from where Laura dragged herself and Derek away.

“If you can hear me…” Derek says, cautiously, “I need you to give me a sign.”

He watches the man’s expression carefully but nothing changes.

“Blink. Raise a finger. Anything!”

Derek thinks it’s pointless. He thinks he’s been an idiot, connecting the man in front of him with the bloodthirsty, powerful alpha. He’s made a mistake. Peter’s been rotting in here for six years, and he might as well rot in here for six years more. Laura hadn’t even visited, Derek knows, he checked the visitor book. Nobody knew Laura was even back in town, not Peter, not the Argents…

There is a piece of paper crumpled in Derek’s pocket and he stiffens, because that’s not entirely true. Laura had come back into town for a reason after all.

And after that, there had been someone she had sought for advice.

 

Scott arrives late for work, frustrated and annoyed at his detention with Stiles. He shoves the door open, shouting out an apology to Deaton.

There is no response.

Scott cautiously steps forwards towards the operating room, freezing at the sight in front of him. Deaton is standing, hands raised defensively. Derek is stalking around, snarling angry accusations at him. “The key to the drug locker is in my pocket.” Deaton is saying, wide eyes, as if he doesn’t know what’s going on.

But he’s not afraid, Scott notes. He’s calm and his heart beat is steady.

Derek doesn’t notice in his anger, stepping forwards, “Who are you protecting?” he growls.

“What are you doing?” Scott announces his presence, “Derek!”

“Scott!” Deaton blinks at him, “Get out of here! Go!” he waves at Scott violently, just as Derek steps forwards and grabs him, bodily throwing the man into the wall. He slumps and Scott lurches forwards.

“Stop!” he protests, “Stop it! What are you doing?”

“If he’s conscious, he can keep himself from healing,” Derek explains.

“You think he’s the alpha?” Scott snaps, “He’s my boss!” there is a piece of paper on the floor and Scott bends over, picking it up. There’s a picture there. It’s a dead deer, but there is a spiral drawn in its side with a knife or…

Or claws.

A spiral.

“It’s a symbol of revenge. Of a vendetta,” Derek explains, “Three months ago someone left that deer to lure Laura back into town.”

And it had worked. It had worked and Laura was dead.

“Don’t hit him again,” Scott instructs, “Look, there must be a way to tell if he really is the alpha. So give me an hour and meet me at the school.”

“Have you got a plan?” Derek asks shrewdly, casting a glance at the unconscious Deaton on the floor.

Scott bites his lip, “An idea.”

“Will it work?”

“I don’t know.”

“Will I like it?”

“No.”

 

“This is a terrible idea.” Lydia is doing nothing but voicing Stiles’ own opinions. Plus from what she told Stiles, Allison knows. Allison has worked out about werewolves and none of them have yet to talk to her about it. Or explain.

And now here they are standing outside the school and Scott looks a little less confident than when he called Stiles and said ‘come over’. Lydia had tagged along from where the pair had been watching through the camera footage, searching for another flash of human or beast moving along. Their search had produced nothing so far.

“We’re still gonna do it though, aren’t we?” Stiles just closes his eyes, “Because I’m personally a fan of just ignoring the problem until it eventually just…” he waves his hands, “Goes away.”

He can feel Derek’s glare even though his eyes are closed. Scott is talking, worrying about his boss and so Stiles blinks his eyes open, observing Deaton’s unconscious form in the back seat.

“Looks comfortable,” he shrugs.

“I don’t like it,” Lydia shakes her head, “Why can’t we just ask him? Talk to him? Lock him down and drug him with wolfsbane?”

“He doesn’t smell like a werewolf.” Stiles points out.

“Werewolves can hide their scents,” Derek grunts, and yeah, that’s convenient. “You haven’t learnt yet,” Derek adds, “I smelt Scott the day I met him looking for his inhaler in the woods.”

“You regularly wander through the woods?” Lydia scoffs, “No wonder you two got bitten.”

Stiles is a bit offended at that, but he decides to ignore it. “I vote Lydia stays here while Scott goes to call the Alpha.”

Lydia puts her foot down at that, “You are not leaving me with sourwolf over here.” She casts an accessing glance over Derek who just eyebrow glares her. She is completely unperturbed and Stiles only wishes he had Lydia’s bravery.

“Come with us then,” Scott sighs, “Just let’s go and do it now. Before he wakes up.”

 

If the screaming cat noise Scott makes the first time through the speakers is painful to Stiles’ super hearing, he can only hope that the alpha decides that Scott makes a pathetic werewolf and gives up on them.

But then Lydia starts talking about “Call the alpha! Shout at him!” and so Stiles adds in his own two cents.

“Be a man,” he thumps Scott hard on the back, almost sending his friend head first into the speaker, “Be a werewolf, not a teen wolf. Be a werewolf. Do it.”

“You try and see how freaking easy it is!” Scott snarls angrily, and then he just opens his mouth and _roars._

It’s like a roar. Not a howl of a wolf, but the roar of a lion. The roar of a werewolf. It’s loud and Stiles feels it in some hidden part of him, and he trembles, all instinct and animal and wolf. Lydia is staring at his eyes and she turns to Scott. “That.” She says triumphantly, “Was perfect. But I still hate this plan.”

“I’m gonna kill both of you.” Derek obviously doesn’t like the plan either. He’s frowning at them, stalking over and giving them a piece of his mind when Lydia clears her throat.

The sound is so out of place that they all freeze and turn to Lydia. She’s not even looking at them. She’s looking at where Deaton should be sitting. “Uh… Scott, where’s your boss?”

Scott lurches to one side, staring at the back of the car, “Oh cra--“ he’s still speaking when Stiles hears this horrible wrenching noise, grating and squelch.

He smells the blood first. It doesn’t smell like rust or metal, it smelt like blood, thick and tangy. Then he smells the soft musky wood smell, that was comforting and made him want to curl up and relax. But on top of the scent is smoke and acid and detergent and a deeper smell of injury.

Then Stiles turns and sees the shadows looming over Derek. He sees the way Derek is choking, and how his chest is red with blood, the same colour of the eyes of the large, black furred beast standing behind him as with a snarl, it rips it’s paw to the side, Derek still impaled on it.

The Hale is thrown away like a piece of trash, and Stiles should probably be concerned about  him, but he’s staring at the alpha - because fuck - that his alpha. That’s the monster that bit him. That black furred red eyed thing…

Stiles doesn’t know what he was planning on doing. He doesn’t know what he would have ended up doing, had Lydia not grabbed him backwards and dragged him, stumbling towards the school, Scott next to him.

“I told you this plan sucked.”


	11. Alpha

So Scott’s day was just getting worse and worse. From Stiles getting him beaten up, to Coach having a go at him for his grades; from him finding his boss being beaten up by Derek in the animal clinic to the alpha turning up at the school and killing Derek.

Oh god. He would probably be having an asthma attack had his asthma not been cured by the bite. Derek was dead. The alpha had killed Derek.

Scott’s day can only get better, he decides, it has to get better, right?

That’s when Stiles opens the door and darts back out, much to Scott’s chagrin. Lydia stares nervously and Scott blinks at her. “What is he doing?”

Because there is that split moment when Stiles looks up and the alpha is staring straight at him and growling… there is a split moment that Scott thinks that Stiles isn’t going to move. He’s going to let the alpha get him, just like that.

But then he moves and Lydia sniffs, “Do I look like I have a key to lock this door?” and that’s when Stiles is back, because werewolf speed, of course, and Stiles is holding a pair of pliers and shoving them in the door handle.

“Okay, so that should keep him out.”

“Stiles. No.” Scott can’t get his words out. “Don’t do something like that!” it’s making him panicky, making him worried and scared because they could die. And while he and Stiles might heal, Lydia can’t. Why the hell did he drag Lydia into this? Why did he let her hang around after discovering about werewolves? Why did he let her and Stiles become friends?

“It’s okay,” Stiles blinks, and he doesn’t see the problem. “But we should go. That won’t hold.”

“Well that’s reassuring!” Lydia bemoans, seemingly to hate her life as well. Scott’s just glad he’s not the only one.

“In here.” He shoves open a classroom door and once they’re in he pushes a table up against it.  “The door won’t keep it out.”

“It’s your boss,” Stiles walks forwards and then spins around, beginning to pace, “Oh god, your boss is the alpha.”

“Deaton?” Scott blinks, trying to think of the cryptic guy who distracts him from conversations by giving him pay rises and looks after sick dogs instead of answering the questions about dead animals and cougar attacks. “No way.” He frowns.

“Yes. Way.” Stiles snaps, arms flailing, “Murdering psycho werewolf!”

Scott shakes his head, because Deaton might be mysterious, but he’s good. He’s nice and he’s not a bad person. Certainly not someone who would bite two teenagers without consent and rip several people into little bits for revenge. “It can’t be.”

“It does look suspicious,” Lydia frowns, “I mean… he disappears and then the alpha shows up ten seconds later.”

“It’s not him.”

“It sent Derek flying twenty feet through the air!” Stiles snaps. “He killed Derek!” he shrugs, spreading his arms out as if to say ‘well there’s nothing I can do’.

Scott shakes his head, “Derek’s not dead,” he argues, “He can’t be dead.” Because what are they going to do then? How are he and Stiles going to survive the full moon? He steps to the window, and the moon is waxing. Monday, he thinks. That’s three days, he and Stiles needed Derek’s help. What are they going to do without the aid of the older werewolf?

“I don’t think even werewolves can heal the loss of major organs,” Lydia says snidely, “And there was definitely a claw through his back.”

“Blood spurted out of his mouth.” Stiles winces, “He’s dead. And you know what? We’re next.”

Scott can’t deal with that, so he throws it aside to deal with later. Derek is dead. Fine. He wasn’t that helpful anyway. Ignoring the pit in his stomach he sighs, “Fine. So what now? We’re trapped in the school.”

“Well you should quit your job, for a start,” Stiles points out.

“We need out of here first,” Lydia sniffs, “We need to get back to your jeep.”

Scott squints through the window at where Stiles’ jeep sits next to Derek’s Camaro, but there’s something wrong. Lydia and Stiles are trying to plan a route out, so he clears his throat.

“Every single classroom has windows!”

“They’re all climate-controlled. We can’t get out through them.”

“Break them.”

“Uh… guys…”

“That will make noise.”

“And you think he can’t hear us right now?”

“Can you hear him?”

“Well… no… but that’s because I’m in a panic and so all I can hear is your freaking heartbeat.”

“Stiles. Lydia….”

“Well I’m sorry if my heart is beating too loudly for you because I’m fearful for my own life due to a homicidal werewolf out to kill me.”

“So we run really fast out to it.”

“I’m wearing heels.”

“Guys!” Scott shouts, and they both pause, “There’s something wrong with the jeep.”

“What?” Stiles squawks, bounding forwards to stand beside Scott, staring out of the window. “What the hell? What did he do to the hood?” It’s twisted, Scott can see. The metal is twisted. Lydia is straining her eyes, and she can’t see, and Stiles is still gaping at his jeep, so it is Scott who spots the movement and drags the two of them to the side.

“Get down!” he shouts, pulling them with him as something crashes though the window, raining glass down on them.

“What was that?” Lydia is shielding her face, blinking up as Stiles goes to investigate. He stiffens, and Scott just knows this isn’t going to be good.

“It’s my battery.” Stiles whispers, “He ripped out the battery.” He sounds a bit indignant, but also terrified. Because escape plan a? A total bust.

“We should find a class room with less windows.” Lydia is stumbling away from the broken glass, grabbing onto Stiles for support. “Locker room,” she decides.

“But it’s a boys locker room,” Stiles points out.

“And…?”

“Whatever,” Scott needs the pair to stop arguing. “Let’s just go. Now.”

“You know,” Lydia says as they approach the locker room, “Maybe we’re going about this all wrong. We’re hiding from it. Running. We should be attacking, getting more people here, hell even phoning Argent if we have to. Or your dad. Stiles, phone your dad.”

“Are you crazy?” Stiles trips his way into the locker room, “What am I going to tell him? Dad: Scott, Lydia and I are being chased by a homicidal werewolf who wants me to join his pack because yeah, I got bitten the other night when I lied to you and said I wasn’t out looking for a dead body when I actually was!” He spins around in frustration.

“Lie,” Lydia shrugs, “Gas leak. Fire. If you get enough cops here it might freak, take off.”

“Or it might go completely Terminator and kill every cop in sight, including my dad.”

“That’s his job,” Lydia snaps, “You know it’s dangerous. He knows it’s dangerous but he knows how to deal with it, better than we do. They’ll have guns…”

Stiles snorts, “Yeah, and Derek had to be shot with a wolfsbane - laced bullet to even slow him down, you remember that?”

Scott interrupts the argument, because Lydia and Stiles’ debates go nowhere quickly. “Derek has a car,” he shrugs, “We can get the keys off his body and then get away.”

Lydia considers this for a moment, and it’s in that second that Scott hears something. A squeak, or maybe a breath, but either way Stiles’ more sensitive hearing has him spinning around first, eyes on the door. Stiles is moving before Scott can, flailing midway between lunging forwards, standing protectively in front of Scott and Lydia and moving backwards away from the threat. Scott hears the snarl, even as the door opens quickly, suddenly and Stiles is flinching back suddenly in alarm.

“What the hell?” the janitor stares and Stiles stumbles over his own legs, eyes flashing and Lydia’s already moving forwards to intercept, Scott behind him. “Son of a bitch,” the guy swears, “You almost… what the hell are you kids doing in here? Hiding? Trying to kill me?”

“Be quiet,” Lydia snaps.

“Quiet my ass,” the janitor glares, “Get out. You shouldn’t be in here, no matter what little threesome you have planned. Out.”

“But…” Lydia isn’t used to being ignored, Scott can tell. She gets this look on her face, hands on her hips, and opens her mouth when Stiles grabs her hand.

“Fine,” he snaps, “Sorry, fine, we’re leaving.”

“What?” Lydia protests, “No we’re not… we need to get this guy out of here… We need to explain.”

“I don’t want an explanation,” the guy laughs, pushing past them and dumping his cleaning bucket. He shoos them towards the door like a pet, turning back to them, “Just shut up. And go.” He repeats.

It happens so quickly.

One moment he’s glaring at them, then next there is a dark shadow over him with red eyes, and then the janitor is turning, facing the guy and screaming and--

“Go!” Stiles already has Lydia outside, and god, Scott thinks, Stiles must have heard that thing coming and why didn’t he just listen because now they’re running, slamming the door closed, feet pounding and the janitor is still screaming and Scott can smell blood and--

And the door is blocked. Scott only discovers that when he slams his shoulder into it with a horrible jolt, because the door won’t fucking open.

“There’s a dumpster in front of it,” Stiles peers out the window, and Lydia stops several paces behind them. Scott marvels at her ability to run in heels and still keep calm.

“Help me move it,” Scott shoves his shoulder against it again, but Stiles is shaking his head, backing up towards Lydia.

“I’m not dying at school,” Lydia snaps at Stiles, “So get over there and help get us out of here!”

“We’re not going to die!” Stiles rounds on her, “Can’t you see? He doesn’t want us dead! He wants us in his pack. It’s a psychotic werewolf that’s into team work. It’s beautiful.”

“Beautiful!? It’s sick!”

And that’s when Scott sees a flash of red and he freezes, head turning. Outside through the window he can see the school roof spread out. There is a shift of shadows and he holds his breath because they aren’t shadows. It’s a dark furred form sitting still, it’s red eyes just watching them calmly.

Stiles must hear the change in his heart beat or smell the scent of panic because he stops and looks up and he too, spots the monster wolf perched on the school roof.

“Oh. Crap.”

“Let’s go!” Scott is turning around, heading back down the corridor. He misses the sight of the large twisted wolf moving fluidly forwards, bounding along the roof, but they’re half way back down the corridor when he hears the glass shatter.

Stiles pushes Lydia ahead of him, around the corner and down the stairs. They’re heading down and Scott has the stupid thought that it’s herding them. Down another flight of stairs and Scott sees a shoe sail by. Lydia’s given up her miraculous run in heels and is barefoot, now in the lead.

“This way,” she says, and vanishes down the stairs towards the basement. Stiles throws himself after her, and Scott just follows, too aware of the werewolf on his heels.

They spin around another corner and pause for a moment, hearts racing and breath panting. Scott can’t hear anything, just an occasional growl and the click of claws on the floor.

Stiles has his eyes closed, head tilting as he listens. He steps backwards, just as Scott hears a sound behind him. Poking his head around the corner he sees the alpha slip along the boiler room floor and take a different direction. Stiles is beckoning, and Scott follows, because Stiles can hear better than he where the monster wolf is.

“We have to do something!” Lydia hisses, as they end up around and trapped in a corner.

“Like what?” Scott hisses.

“I don’t know.” Stiles snaps, “Kill it, hurt it, inflict mental anguish on it. Something!” His keys rattle in his pocket and they all freeze at the sound. Scott’s heart drops as Stiles’ eyes light up, the glimmer of an idea in his mind.

“No.”

Stiles nods, slipping the keys out and letting them jangle a bit. Then with a deft flick of his wrist, he sends them clanging into the boiler room.

Scott throws himself backwards, dragging Lydia with him as something large and dark hurtles around the corner towards the sound. Stiles shoves the door, clashing it closed and freezing for a moment as the trapped wolf roars.

“The desk--“ he gestures, and Lydia is already pushing, so Scott adds his strength and it slides into place, just as the door shudders with the force of an impacting werewolf.

“I hate you guys,” Lydia’s flustered, “I could be sitting at home with Jackson right now, but instead, I’m in here with you two losers, with a trapped werewolf.”

“You’re the one who was curious enough about werewolves to take home an injured one like a pet dog to look after it.” Stiles retorts and Scott slides over the desk to stand besides Lydia and Stiles.

“Come on,” Scott grabs at Stiles’ jacket.

“Wait…” Stiles steps towards the door, “I want to get a look… I mean… this is what bit us. Who bit us. It’s trapped…”

“Are you crazy…?” Lydia blinks as Stiles perches on top of the desk, lowering his head to look through the wire mesh. “Stiles…”

“I’m not scared of this thing.” Stiles says, “You hear that? I’m not scared of you! You’re alone right now, trapped in there while I? Scott and I have each other, and we’re pack while you’re a feral insane homicidal…”

There is a crash and Stiles flinches back. Scott moves, peering through, staring at the falling ceiling tiles and the room is empty.

The ceiling above him creaks and sinks down slightly.

“I hate you two.” Lydia says, voice like ice.

Stiles is too busy sliding off the desk and grabbing her hand to form a response. Scott just follows again, bemoaning his life.

The night is progressively getting steadily worse. From Derek being dead to them being trapped to the alpha stalking them down…

But everything gets ten times more dangerous when Stiles hears a phone ringing.

A noise sounds and it’s the first thing other than the pounding of their own hearts and the pants of their own breath that Stiles has heard since the janitor’s screams. “Wait.” Stiles freezes, “Can you hear a phone ringing?”

Scott stops dead still and listens, because Stiles is right.

And what is yet worse is that he recognises the ring tone.

“Allison.”

 

“Are you sure he’s here?”

“I got a text,” Allison shows Jackson the phone again, “And you said you’d give me a lift.”

“I said I was going to find Lydia so you could hang with us, instead of McCall when he doesn’t turn up to study session. But Lydia isn’t around and so you and I are now at the high school, when school isn’t even in session, looking for your boyfriend.”

“You can wait in the car,” Allison says, stepping out.

“No. No. You are not leaving me in the car. Alone.”

“Scared?” she asks with a grin, “You look like you want to tell me to be careful.”

“I…” Allison watches Jackson freeze. She’s not sure why he’s here, but she’s kind of glad for the company. It is rather creepy out in the dark.

“What is it?” she asks, as Jackson moves past her towards where the jeep is parked. They must be here then, Stiles at the very least.

“Does the hood on that piece of crap jeep look crappier than usual?”

“Don’t be mean about Stiles’ jeep.” Allison says, but she follows Jackson to the blue car. He’s right, she notices, the hood looks severely bent.

“I said I was going to be nice to you and Scott. Not Stilinski.” Jackson is frowning over something, hands outstretched.

His fingers are curled just enough to look like claws.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.” He snatches his hand back. “Come on, now, you want to find Scott or not?”

“In the school?” he follows her despite his sceptic tone.

“Where else?”

“They broke into the school and now you want us to break in there too?”

Allison just shrugs, strolling down the corridor. The far end is illuminated by moonlight and she stops midway, turning around and calling out. “Scott? Scott!” she stops mid spin, because Jackson is staring at something over her shoulder.

She spins around.

There is a figure standing at the far end of the corridor.

“Scott?” she asks, stepping forwards.

“Derek?” Jackson asks, voice low. Allison stops walking, heart thudding.

The figure is too tall, she realises. Too tall and too…

There’s something wrong, and Allison doesn’t realise how wrong until it drops to the ground. Not just to a crouch, but to all fours, slipping silently across the corridor.

It watches them, and it’s eyes are red.

There is a four legged monster with red eyes and it looks like a wolf, like a twisted wolf that could almost be human when standing, and Allison is stumbling backwards into Jackson because that’s a werewo--

Her phone rings.

She and Jackson jump in alarm and when she looks up again the monster is gone. The end of the corridor is empty.

Heart racing, she fishes her phone out of her pocket. It’s Scott, and she sighs in relief, answering it.

She gets a moment of silence and then a dial tone as the other end hangs up. She blinks, looking back at the phone. “He hung up on me.”

Her phone rings again in her hands, and this time it’s Lydia calling.

“Lydia?”

“No, it’s Stiles.”

“Stiles?” Jackson starts.

“Where are you?” Stiles enunciates, “Right now?”

“At the school, looking for Scott.”

“What?” she hears Scott in the background.

Then Lydia’s voice can be heard, “Get to the lobby right now. Like right now.” Then she hangs up.

Allison exchanges a startled glance with Jackson, and then looks back down the corridor to where the werewo--

She shakes her head and starts for the lobby.

 

“What are you doing here?”

“Jackson, what are you…?”

“Because you asked me to. You sent me a text.”

“But Scott lost his phone.”

Too many people are talking. Lydia wants to scream, wants them to shut up. Jackson is staring at her in something almost like betrayal, while Allison is asking questions, confused and anxious and--

And that’s just about when the ceiling above them creaks and the alpha drops through.

They end up in the cafeteria which has a wall filled with windows. Not good. But it’s a place to pause and try and calm everyone down and so Lydia lets them build up a defence, stands back and watches Stiles’ frustration as he tries to point out the “Twenty foot wall of windows, good job, guys!”

“What is going on?” Allison snaps, “What is that thing? It is a wer--“ she stops and Jackson flawlessly continues.

“What are you guys even doing here?”

“Someone killed the janitor,” Stiles blurts out. It can only get worse from there, so Lydia tries to salvage it before it can.

“The janitor is dead,” she confirms, “And there’s something out there. It’s like a bear, except it… it’s… fast… and strong… and it’s what’s been killing people.”

“A mountain lion.”

“Did that look like a mountain lion to you?” Allison snaps, “It’s a…” she stops, staring at them, “Isn’t it?” she asks.

Lydia just listens to her own breath, in and out. In and out. Heart pounding.

“Someone set it on those people.” Stiles builds up the story with her, “We don’t know who. We… we were working with Derek Hale to find out. He wanted to know who killed his sister. Someone has that… that thing… that wolf and is using it to kill people. Including us.”

“That’s it.” Jackson snaps. “Call the cops.”

“No.” Stiles growls, and Lydia twists his arm so he doesn’t flash gold eyes at her boyfriend. Jackson is the only one who doesn’t know. Allison has guessed, Lydia can see it in her eyes but now is not the time to try and explain werewolves to her.

“What do you mean ‘no’?”

“I mean no. You wanna hear it in Spanish ? No. Look, three people are already dead, okay? There’s a rabid wolf out there that wants to chew us to pieces!”

Lydia understands Stiles’ protectiveness over his father. She understands his reasons but right now, they can’t afford to not do anything. “I’m calling,” she says, shooting Stiles an apologetic look and turning away as his eyes flare gold with anger. “Hello, yes, we’re at Beacon Hills High School. We’re trapped and we need you to--“

_“Look this prank call isn’t funny. We’ve had a warning already about you.”_

“But…”

_“If you call again we’ll trace your call and arrest you. Good night.”_

“She hung up on me.” Lydia whispers. How dare they? She thinks it indignantly, they hung up on her. They didn’t even _listen_ …

“Okay, new plan,” Jackson steps forwards, “Stiles calls his useless dad.” Lydia doesn’t even need to look at Stiles to feel him bristling. “Tell him to send someone with a gun and decent aim. We get that monster put down.”

Scott had been silent until now, listening to their fake story and nodding. Allison won’t look at him, and Lydia wonders how much she’s guessed. If she knows that Scott is a werewolf or just that werewolves are involved.

Stiles shifts uncomfortably, spinning around and running his hands through his hair in frustration. He doesn’t want to call his dad, Lydia knows. His dad is the only family he had left.

“Look,” Jackson makes his first mistake, stepping forwards, “Just give me the pho--“

Stiles spins around and punches him in the nose. Some part of Lydia hopes the wolf broke it, the other part of her is worried for Jackson and worried at Stiles’ reckless behaviour. But Stiles has already backed down, dialling the number and leaving a voicemail.

Allison looks up at her from where she is supporting Jackson. That’s the precise moment the door shudders. “Oh my god,” Allison whispers, meeting Lydia’s gaze.

 

Werewolves are real.

It’s the only stupid thing in her head.

Werewolves are real and one is trying to kill them.

Allison has no idea who knows what, but bringing up the fact that werewolves are real and that one is outside the door this precise moment is not a good plan. So she stays silent and tries to follow along the half-truths and lies Lydia, Stiles and Scott are coming up with.

Then Scott makes to leave with a conical flask that should explode and she can’t take it anymore. “Don’t go.” She begs. “Don’t leave us.” Don’t leave me. “This is insane. You could die. Three people have already died.”

“And we’re next,” Scott looks scared. But not for himself, for them.

That worries her more, almost, as the door clicks shut behind him.

 

Scott doesn’t find the body in the locker room. Instead the scent of blood leads him around to the gym, to the belachers, and it’s overpowering until Scott has to be standing right by it, because the scent of blood is all he can smell.

Something drips onto his face and he swipes at it.

It comes back red and he just closes his eyes and steps backwards, because he knows what he is going to see.

Getting the keys is harder, and he almost has them when the bleachers start retracting. And that’s terrifying, because it means this alpha is thinking. He’s planning, he’s got sane thought somewhere in that animal head and he wants Scott out and exposed.

To what? Kill him? Scott doesn’t know. He grabs the keys and the cocktail and makes a run so as not to be crushed by the metal poles and benches. He lands in a crouch, facing the gymnasium.

Facing the alpha.

“Come and get me,” he whispers, and it begins bounding towards him. In a few seconds Scott will watch him burn. In a few seconds he can get back to the others, get back to Allison…

He throws the bottle.

The alpha stops, dazed from the shattering glass, and looking mildly puzzled.

But beyond that nothing else happens. It lets out a growl and Scott’s stomach just plummets as he makes to run. But claws catch his leg and he’s flung out into the centre of the gymnasium. He scrambles backwards but then there is a large dark shape and red eyes and fangs and it’s standing over him, drool sliding down.

Scott stares into red eyes, and he thinks about how much they look like fire.

 

“I don’t get this,” Allison’s voice cracks and Stiles watches as Lydia tries to offer a hug of comfort, only for Allison to step away, “Why is he leaving us? Why… I can’t stop shaking.” She stares at her trembling hands, and Stiles can hear her heart pounding. She’s in shock, terrified and afraid. She may be in training to be a hunter, but she’s had no practise under pressure. She’s still calm, all things considering, and at the moment Jackson seems to be the more panicky, running his hands through his hair repeatedly, heart like a bird.

Lydia fiddles with the bottles of chemicals, and she’s staring at one. “Jackson, you handed me the sulphuric acid, right?”

Jackson looks up and he has no idea what she’s talking about. Stiles can see it. “I did exactly what you asked,” he says, and it’s not a lie. But…

Stiles steps forwards towards the bottle of sulphuric acid, crouching down so he stands in front of it.

“Stiles?” Lydia asks, frowning.

He breaths in, and first of all the chemical stinks. He doubts he’s going to get any scent from it at all and he shakes his head, standing back up when another bottle catches his eyes.

Hydrochloric acid.

It’s an acid, so it would be an easy mistake to make, but that’s not what Stiles registers.

It’s the clinging scent of Jackson to the bottle, sweat and nerves and desperations. Stiles grabs it and turning to Lydia, sniffs it again to be sure. “You use HCl?” he asks, lowering the bottle from his nose.

Lydia is staring at him, and Allison and Jackson are both frowning because Stiles was sniffing the freaking acid quite literally. “No.” Lydia whispers. “Why… is that…?”

“This is the bottle he handed you.” Stiles says, and they stare at each other a moment. Then…

“Oh god,” Lydia makes a grab for the chemicals again, “It won’t ignite. We sent Scott off with a dud.”

“What the hell?” Allison blurts out, “Were you sniffing that? Can you smell if he’s touched it or not?”

“I didn’t do anything wrong! Lydia told me to hand it to her!”

“I’ll go out,” Stiles says, over the top of them all. They all turn to blink at him, with the exception of Lydia who is pouring out chemicals. “Look, Scott’s defenceless out there. Jackson made a mistake…”

“Lydia told me to…”

“I asked you to get me sulphuric acid!” Lydia snaps, “You’re the one who can’t read a label!” Jackson spins around and the back of his shirt is pulled down, and Stiles blinks at the marks on the back of his neck.

“What happened…” he’s reaching out for them, but something tingles in his fingertips and he pulls back, flinching.

“It's been there for days. He won't tell me what happened.” Lydia remarks, “Stiles, are you sure you want to go out…?”

“Why do you have to leave? Why… I don’t understand…” Allison takes a deep breath, “Stiles, please, think this through.”

Stiles bites his lip hard enough to draw blood. It’s healed in the few seconds he has to turn to Allison to reassure her, something Scott didn’t do. “Scott’s my best friend,” he says, “He’s like a brother. I can’t just leave him, okay? I… the police should be here soon… but I need to find Scott.”

“Scott’s looking for a dead body,” Jackson retorts, “In the basement.”

“Scott’s looking for a way out,” Stiles snaps, “Because we’re locked in school with a lunatic who doesn’t even want to kill us, because otherwise we’d be dead already. Instead he wants to toy with us and scare us. And I’m not scared, okay? So I’m not going to sit in here waiting while Scott is out there!”

Lydia snorts, “Lunatic. Really nice, Stiles.” She shoves a conical flash into his hands, “This one will ignite.”

“Promise?”

“I made it myself,” she smiles smugly, “So if you see that bastard. You burn him to the ground.”

Stiles glances at Allison, then Jackson and then back to Lydia, “Look after them,” he says, and then he steps backwards and out of the door, letting it click shut behind him.

“It will be okay,” he hears her telling Jackson and Allison, reassuring the pair of his intentions. Stiles starts on the familiar path down the school corridor, heading towards the locker room. It’s eerie, being at school when nobody else it. Despite the silence Stiles’ senses are overwhelmed by the sheer emotions he’s feeling that he can’t actually hear anything else.

The sports department is around several corners and through a door into a corridor. The corridor is dark and when he reaches the locker room, the door is off its hinges. He pauses, trying to scent anything beyond his own emotions, trying to hold onto the Molotov cocktail and work out where Scott is and so many things racing through his head it’s a juggling act at the moment.

That’s when he hears it.

A roar echoes throughout the whole building.

Stiles feels something inside him go numb. It’s like a punch to gut, like claws ripping into the soft spongy tissue of his brain. It hurts, but in a good way. The way it feels to pull off a scab or to set a dislocated shoulder back into place.

The sound is coming from the gym. It’s tugging him back up through the school. Stiles’ thoughts slip into a jumble and without thinking his vision slips into grey and white and black and red. He stalks forwards like he knows where he is going and what he is doing. The glass bottle slips from his hands and crashes to the ground, flaring up. He should be panicking, but the fire just dies on the hard linoleum, self-contained and burning out as Stiles leaves it behind, moving forwards towards his Alpha.

Then the sound is gone and Stiles freezes, heart pounding. He’s standing further down the corridor, half way to the gymnasium. The urge to continue is so strong. He stops himself, realising his claws are out and his fangs too. He counts his breathing, one two three, and tries to imagine his dad's heartbeat.

He still feels the after-effect of the roar, like a tingle in the back of his head. He needs to find Scott, he thinks suddenly. He needs to make sure Scott is safe. He no longer has fire, but he has claws and fangs and a desperate need to protect his brother. Scott must be near, he thinks, he smells near, and Stiles forces himself to move again, towards the gym, towards Scott.

He can even hear Scott’s heartbeat, and he takes a moment to reassure himself through the familiar beats that pulse inside his head. His eyes drift closed.

Soon now they can get out, get home, and get back to his father and…

Thump Thump Thump

Stiles listens, but the heart beats loud and desperate, like a cry calling for help. Scott's always had a thump thud beat, and this…

This isn't Scott.

Stiles’ eyes open and there is a shape in the door way, dark and large and Stiles steps backwards, but he’s not quick enough. Not this time. The dark furred thing lashes out, knocking him down. He hears it growl quietly, and it sounds right in his ear, but he hears it in his head as well.

It. The alpha.

His alpha. The monster that had bit him.

Claws sinks into his jacket, pulling him up. His back hits a wall and Stiles sees a gaping maw, red eyes and hot fur, warm breath, hot pants, laboured breathing, smells blood, smells Scott and wolf and pack and…

Something grabs his t-shirt, the grip feeling human. It tugs him forwards and Stiles follows, flailing and hitting out at the dark shape. He opens his mouth, to ask, to question, to scream even, and a gloved hand clamps down over his open mouth and nose.

He coughs, choking. It's suffocating, and he can't breathe, and he struggles. The guy grips him tighter, and the moonlight catches pale, twisted and burnt skin, leaving Stiles thinking 'it's not Scott's boss' just before something crashes into his head and his spotty vision blacks entirely.

 

“Are you okay?” Scott stumbles out into the Sheriff who catches him by his shoulders, holding his steady. Lydia and Allison trail out and Jackson is furious, snapping at officers and trying to explain what happened. “Scott?”

“I’m…” Scott chokes, and the feeling of loss is still there. Like something has been ripped away. “I--“ he can’t breathe, he can’t even see, his vision is blurring. One moment he’s stalking down a corridor, seconds away from killing his friends, then he’s snapping the key off and running, because he can’t, he won’t, and then the police are there and leading him out.

He knows something is missing even before he gets out and sees Deaton in the ambulance, sees Lydia and Jackson and Allison huddling together.

“Scott,” the Sheriff shakes him and Scott’s world snaps into focus, “Scott, please… where is Stiles?”

“He’s gone.” It’s so final, so terrible. Scott has to repeat himself, because he can see that the Sheriff hasn’t registered his words, “The guy took him. He kidnapped Stiles.”

Then the Sheriff is gone, running into the school stinking of desperation and fear and Scott almost falls over, but Allison is there to catch him.

“He’s gone.” Scott whispers, tears in his eyes, “Stiles is gone.”

“It’s okay,” Allison says, but her lips are pressed together and she seems uncomfortable. “They’ll find him.”

“I’m sorry.” Scott whispers, “About lying to you.”

“No.” she says, face pale and drawn, “You’re not. You’re not sorry, because if you were you wouldn’t still be lying to me now.”

He feels like he’s drowning. “I’m not lying,” he whispers, “I’m not… Allison.”

She shakes her head, “I can’t do this anymore,” she whispers, “If you can’t tell me the truth, then… then I don’t think we should talk at all. Whatever you’re in… it’s bad and I… I can’t… I’m sorry… Scott…” she pulls away, leaving him feeling unsupported and alone.

“Allison,” he pleads, “Do we have to do this now?”

“I’m sorry about Stiles,” she says, “But when else am I going to do it? I just… I need a break. I need to think…”

“Allison.”

“Don’t talk to me.” She looks distraught, “Don’t call me. Just… don’t talk to me.”

And she turns away, and Scott’s left there.

Alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's about time I finally got to this point. The Stiles after this begins to differ from canon and Peter is most definitely to blame.


	12. Kidnapped

Stiles wakes and unlike in books where characters always forget where they are, Stiles knows instantly. He’s lying on leaves that rattle beneath him with the leaf mould scent of the forest around him. His head doesn’t hurt, just the faint ache that signifies it’s healed.

He’s not alone. He knows that too. Whether it’s the heart nearby or the sharp crisp scent of the alpha, Stiles doesn’t know, but he pushes himself up, looking around.

"Good," a voice drifts towards him, "You're awake. Hello, Stiles. I've wanted to meet you properly for a while now."

A man shifts out of the shadows like he'd prepared it perfectly for them. Stiles is sprawled on the floor of the woods and it's dark. It might still be Friday, but he's not sore or bruised which means he's healed, so Stiles tries not to think of how long he’s been gone.

He remembers bits and pieces and flashes but each time he'd see red eyes and fade out.

He's been kidnapped, he realises. He's been kidnapped and is now in the woods with a psychotic alpha.

At the moment the alpha is human.

Even as a human he's twisted. Half of his face is a mass of flesh that looks like it has melted into each other. Burn scars, and they continue down the neck and to the torso. They're deep and they twist the handsome face into something rabid and inhuman.

Or, y'know. That might be the red eyes.

"You." he tries to stand, staggering to his feet. The man doesn't even react. He just nods.

So Stiles does what he thinks is the natural thing to do. He bolts.

He should have known it would be useless. He makes it about three steps before something slams into him and throws him to one side. His back hits a tree and he slides down, breath leaving him. Then the man is there, crouched over him and one hand coming down sharply onto his left leg.

Stiles hears the snap, hears his own howl of pain, but doesn't register it for several seconds. When it hits it brings tears of pain to his eyes.

"Don't try that again," the man says conversationally, as if he didn't just break Stiles’ leg.

Stiles would snap back a snarky reply but he can't breathe, the man leaning right over him. "Why me?" he manages to choke out. "Why have you brought me here?"

The man laughs, "Because you're my beta.” He laughs, “We’re pack.”

“I’m not your pack. Scott and I don’t want you.”

“You say that,” the man chuckles, “But you’re the boy who trapped me in a room, pressed your nose to the glass, stared me down and told me ‘I am not afraid of you.’ even while Scott wanted to run. You're the one who ripped open a mountain lion for me while Scott hung around with his other friends. You're the boy who is going to help me because you know it’s the right thing to do."

"I'm not going to help you kill people." Each word out of the man’s mouth is like a blow, but Stiles ignores that, trying to drag himself backwards, but the man just curls his claws into Stiles’ thigh.

"Oh, but you are." the man purrs. The scars on his face twist. "You'll make a wonderful, ruthless beta, one we get rid of what little morals you have left. Because, Stiles, you and I? We're alike."

"I'm nothing like you." Stiles spits out, and the man just smiles and leans forwards onto the leg he's snapped. Stiles can't stop the hiss of pain from slipping out.

The man smiles bitterly, "But we are." he leans forwards, and hooking his fingers into Stiles' collar, stands, dragging Stiles with him. "Do you know who I am, Stiles?"

"You didn't introduce yourself before you kidnapped me," Stiles bites out.

He laughs quietly, "I like you. You have bite. Good. You're the clever one, aren't you, Stiles? Work. It. Out."

Unwillingly Stiles' eyes are drawn to the burn marks on half of the guy's face. "You're meant to be in a coma," he spits out, "Peter."

"Good boy," Peter purrs, eyes flashing red and his teeth are just that bit fanged, "I made at least one good choice then, in biting you. Now, beta, I'm going to show you just how similar two people can get." and he reaches forwards. Stiles clutches at the one hand still fisted in his collar, and his left leg still won't hold weight, and so he is helpless as Peter forces him to crumple to his knees.

Stiles is barely aware of the claws until they are inches deep in the back of his neck, and he feels a spark as something connects and he's frozen, unable to move. Something rips its way into his head and his vision blurs.

Peter's got his claws inside his neck.

Oh god - and there are thoughts and pictures inside his head.

He wants to be sick but he can't even move. He's burning and screaming but he's frozen and paralyzed while each cell knits together one by one.

Fourth degree burns, fifth even in some place and people aren't meant to s u r v i v e but he's a _werewolf_ and he'll

**_r_ ** **_a_ ** **_z_ ** **_e_ ** **_t_ ** **_h_ ** **_e_ ** **_EARTH to the_ ** **_gr_ ** **_o_ ** **_u_ ** **_n_ ** **_d_ **

he'll tear them all apart, build it all anew because he fucking **told** talia something like this was going to happen

                               he can see the _boys_ kids **_teenagers_** laughing as they pour gasoline everywhere

he can smell her scent

_(the same scent that has been clinging to derek lately)_

**of that ~~girl~~ ~~woman~~ _hunter_ he's been seeing **

                      and now she stands and watches it burn watches the mountain ash line

_\--- listens to the screams ---_

they're all in the basement for the moon

** control **

                                                                            he's the only one in the house

but he can still hear the **screams**

                        but now he can't move can't do anything and laura and derek are leaving

                                                                                               (oh god don't leave him)

**_don't leave_ **

**he's alone with thoughts and vengeance plans about ripping the argent's apart**

                                                                                               ripping the werewolves apart

                                              ripping everything up and starting over

he'll be an alpha

he'll **rip** ~~talia~~ laura _anyone_ apart if he has to--

The memories don’t fade. They’re still rushing through Stiles’ mind, a rush of thoughts that leave him reeling. Instead he gradually becomes aware of his other senses; that he’s being cradled in someone’s lap (Peter’s) and hands are running through his hair almost soothingly.

He whines, low in his throat, and Peter’s whispering coaxing words to him. Stiles can’t move, because his muscles are burnt and paralyzed, so he lies there.

He has no idea how much time passes when he finally realises that he’s not injured. He’s never been burnt to near death, that was Peter, those were Peter’s memories’ his thoughts and feelings.

But he can only twitch one finger and feel phantom pain, because it all felt so real. So clear.

But that was Peter and not him and those were Peter's fucking memories in his head.

He tries to move, tries to pull away, and Peter leans back, hand moving away from Stiles’ hair from where he had been petting him (oh god like a dog). “Are you okay?” he asks, as if he's concerned.

"What was that?" Stiles asks, voice dry, choking on soot and ash and --

"My memories. My pain, from the last six years. Can you see now, why I fight?"

Fight and kill, Stiles wants to say. Instead he pulls away, falling onto the soil. It’s cold in comparison, and unforgiving as he rolls, struggling to push himself up.

Peter stands, fluidly and eyes him sprawled in the dirt for a moment. “Come on,” he instructs, voice commanding. It tugs at Stiles’ bones and he finds his limbs obeying as he makes it to his feet.

“Where?” Stiles grits out, “Where are we going?”

"I watched my family burn." Peter says casually, cruelly almost. "It would be a shame if something would happen to your father."

Stiles' breath catches, because if that is a threat--

He doesn't know if Peter means that he'd go personally and rip his father to shred, or even worse bite him, or if he's talking about fire and the Argents and that the hunters are corrupt enough that they'd use his dad to get to him.

"The hunters would shoot him to get to you." Peter shrugs, and Stiles’ thoughts stumble to a halt, because Peter’s not the threat, he’s not a danger, but the Argents, the hunters…

“But he’s human,” Stiles chokes out.

"It doesn't matter. Some of my family were human."

Stiles' world is reeling and he can still smoke.

Peter turns slowly towards Stiles, "If you help me, I can keep your father safe. I can help you protect him" he promises, " _You_ can keep him safe. Scott too. I'll even leave little Allison alive for him, if I feel like it. You're a werewolf. It's time you embraced that. I just need you on my side for this. I need you to join me. I need a pack, and you need an alpha. Together we’re stronger, more stable, safer… and soon all the threats will be dead. I'll enjoy ripping them apart, but I’m going to _need_ you to help me."

Stiles chokes, trying to pull away, because he can hear, can smell (of course he can he can smell and hear everything nowadays) and the scent drifting through the trees is familiar, and it's even accompanied by the sharp smell of fire. "No," he tries to pull away.

"Stiles," Peter meets his gaze, red eyes boring into his head, "How would you feel if it was your father who was dead?" he asks, and Stiles still doesn't know if that's a threat or not. "What would you do?"

Stiles would rip them apart. He'd hunt them all down because they might go after Scott or Melissa and because his dad is the only one left to him now.

He'd kill them all, he realises numbly.

"Good." Peter looks… satisfied. Like a cat that got the cream, or maybe a wolf that caught the deer. Peter rests one hand on the back of Stiles' neck, between his shoulder blades. "There are two guys up there. I want you to kill them for me."

Stiles peers through the trees to the two men, barely in their twenties. “You want me to what? I… I can’t do that! I’m not… why? I’m not a killer… we’re not killers, we don’t need to kill!” he shakes his head.

Peter steps forwards until he stands right behind him, wrapping himself around Stiles and it’s wrong, it’s sick, Stiles shouldn’t be just standing there but he can’t quite remember why he’s fighting anymore. He lets the gentle breathing in his ear steady him, relaxing against the older man.

He shouldn't. He should be running, should be fighting back but the feeling of having his Alpha so near is intoxicating. The back of his neck still hurts from the claw marks and the Hale family scream at the edge of his mind.

“Don’t you recognise them?” Peter purrs, leaning over Stiles’ shoulder.

It's totally justified, he thinks, whatever he does it is not without reason.

He can feel the alpha’s breath on his neck and the proximity makes his shiver. One hand traces the still healing claw marks on the back of his neck and Stiles remembers.

“The arsonists,” he says, feeling a well of anger inside him surge.

“Arson happens to property,” Peter sighs, “Murder happens to people.” It sounds like something his dad would say. His hand grasps Stiles’ shoulder gently, “You understand now, don’t you?”

Stiles swallows. He knows he is going to regret this, but he sucks in a deep breath and nods. "I think so." He states, and this time he does understand. It's not the brutality, or mindless killing. It's planned, emotionally driven, in order to protect, to help his pack prosper.

His pack, Stiles thinks. He and Peter. Their pack. It makes him feel almost warm and comforted.

“It will seal the pack bond,” Peter hums, “I can help you more easily then. Make all that noise, that clutter… go away.”

Stiles shifts uneasily under the Alpha’s hand. “I’m not a killer,” he whispers, because that's the only thing still holding him back. The only thing stopping him. “I’m not.” he repeats.

And Peter’s grip grows tight and uncomfortable, “But I am. So are the Argents. The hunters. So are those two idiots stumbling around in the woods. I imagine your dad has shot people in the line of duty before.”

Stiles is tense, mind racing. Noises pound in his ears. It’s a threat, blackmail and bribery rolled into one. He wonders what would happen if he shook off the Alpha’s guiding touch and ran for it.

He knows he doesn’t want to find out.

So instead he takes a deep breath, thinking of all the people who died in that fire, trapped and burned to death. He steels himself, and opens his mouth, watching himself trip his way down that slippery slope as he asks. “How should I do it?”

“Good boy,” Peter purrs in his ears and Stiles thinks he might regret it later, but for now he settles back and lets a shiver of pleasure creep up his spine.

 

He doesn't regret it.

That's the first thing he realises, when he steps out of the shadows, eyes glowing gold and fangs bared. The one guy freezes and the other one bolts, so Stiles goes for that one first.

It's almost too easy. Claws across the ankles send him to the ground and the guy screams in alarm. Stiles has a sudden urge to shut him up by any means necessary. Stiles considers what his blood will look like scattered around the clearing, his body ripped into little chunks and unrecognisable.

Suddenly aware of his thoughts he feels sick, and the guy kicks out. Stiles snarls, knocking aside the arsonist's flailing limbs and reaching out one hand for his neck.

The guy is still screaming when his neck snaps and Stiles drops him dispassionately, blinking at the body. It was nothing now, just an empty sack of meat.

Killing him had been so, so easy.

Peter gazes at him from the shadows, smiling a little bit at him. Stiles blinks back, feeling something drain out of him. He fells hollow, cold almost as he's lost some spark inside of him.

But Peter watches him calmly and the only thing he can hear is the thump of his own heart in his chest. Someone cries out and without even thinking about it Stiles spins around to the other guy, letting out a snarl. He lies sprawled on the floor, scrambling backwards. Stiles feels light, limbs loose as he bounds forwards, hand grabbing the guy by his neck and dragging him up. He lets the claws sink in, blood trickling down his hands as he prepares to rip open the throat.

"No," his Alpha says, "No. Make it long. Make it painful. Burn him."

The gentle flicker of the fire in the bin is visible nearby. The guy chokes, still clutched in the wolf's hand as he stalks over. Garbled phrases come out, but Stiles doesn't care.

He throws the guy in.

"Good." his Alpha whispers, moving out of the shadows towards him. "You're beautiful… perfect. What a wonderful, ruthless beta. Good boy."

Stiles feels giddy, feels high. His senses are muted and dull and he's keenly aware of his Alpha nearby, a hot flare that keeps him warm. He stands there; content to bask in the warmth of the nearby fire and the sound of the screams.

 

Stiles has been missing since Friday night.

It's Monday now and Scott drags himself to school with reluctance. Allison and Lydia and Jackson are there, and while Lydia looks worried, sympathetic, Allison looks nervous still. Scott doesn’t think she has any idea what's going on. He hopes she doesn’t, because she can’t find out. What would she think of him? He’d be even more alone than he already is.

Because Stiles is not there.

And Derek is dead. If not dead he's dying in the ditch. And Scott's boss might be the alpha, might be on a killing spree…

Scott's stomach lurches and the bell rings, deafening him as he scurries to class. There is a paper on each desk, a test, something else he had forgotten about. Scott feels a little more frantic, a little more lost as he takes his seat and picks up his pencil, trying to focus.

It feels like there are bugs crawling under his skin. Scott listens to the pencils scratching on the test and feels his stomach churn at all the scents in the room. Is this what Stiles feels like?

He puts his hands over his ears but Allison is sitting there right in front of him. Her scent wafts over him and even through his hands he can hear her soft steady pulse beating like a beacon of light to him.

Her proximity makes his head swims and he wants to run and yet he wants to stay as close to Allison as possible.

He needs Stiles, he realises briefly. He needs the steady heartbeat of his friend (his brother) and it's not there.

Stiles is gone, and he's left Scott painfully and terrifyingly alone.

Something drops onto his desk and he blinks at the swimming letters.

'It's the full moon tonight. Who are you going to kill?'

Scott blinks and the letters rearrange themselves. It's Lydia's sharp handwriting. 'It's the full moon tonight. Why are you in school, you idiot?'

He looks up and meets her gaze, hears her heartbeat and he's losing it. He knows he is. Stiles is gone and Allison sits so near to him, but so far away and unreachable.

Scott can't breathe anymore, can't do this, not this, not now, he's alone with only Lydia watching him through half-closed eyes.

He drops his pencil, snapping the lead. It's a loud crack, like a gunshot and he flinches. His chair scrapes on the floor with a horrible noise and he throws himself up towards the door.

"Mr McCall, where do you…?"

It's too much. Scott grabs his bag and legs it out of the classroom. Stiles is gone and Allison is gone and Derek is gone and it's the full moon and Scott has no freaking idea what to do.

But he's alone, and somehow that scares him more than anything else.

 

“What’s wrong with my eyes?”

The full moon blazes overhead and Stiles clenches his hands on the bowl of the sink, watching as his eyes flare brown to gold to brown to blue.

Peter has a little apartment, which he claims belongs to his nurse, but she isn’t around. It’s just Stiles and Peter, and it took him too long to get the blood out from under his nails. The screams are gone already though, and he thinks he should feel worse, should feel something else, but all he feels is broken. Unger and Reddick, he reminds himself of their names, but it means nothing.

He just ripped two people apart, another file for Beacon Hill’s animal attacks, and he doesn’t feel a damn thing.

“Peter?” he asks again, searching his reflection and spotting the movement of the alpha in the background.

“Beautiful,” Peter breathes, and Stiles’ eyes flash a vivid, electric blue. He knows that they’re not going to be gold again.

“Peter?” he turns, heart thumping. The blood rushes around his body, scent rises off his skin like steam. A floorboard creaks somewhere and a mouse scurries across the floor of the basement. A leaf outside rustles in the wind and the cars on the highway roar by.

Stiles whimpers, clenching his eyes closed. He feels a hand grab his wrist, tugging him close and he stumbles forwards. “Breathe, Stiles,” his alpha hums. Stiles shivers at the tone, at the overwhelming sense of belonging that hits him. “Don’t try to fight it. Let it flow in and out, but don’t worry about it. Just breathe…”

A branch scratches at the window. A moth beats its wings against the light. The sounds had dulled after killing the arsonists, but now on the day of the full moon everything is coming back into sharp focus. Small things at first, but now more and more until his focus is shattered and scattered a dozen different directions. The wind tugs at a plastic bag caught in a tree. His alpha’s heart beats steadily next to him, blood pulsing through veins red hot and vivid. Teeth grind together and Stiles’ eyes flutter open, choking slightly as he feels fangs prick at his lip. The world is painted in vivid reds and blues as he slips in and out of wolf sight. “My eyes…” he asks again, before he is lost in the sights and sounds and scents again, “What does it mean?”

“Your eyes? The colour?” Peter’s smile is slow and languid, “They’re the eyes of a killer.” He says, and Stiles whimpers a little, “My little killer,” his alpha purrs, “You’ll do anything for me, won’t you? You see that it’s for the best, don’t you? Because the Argents… they won’t stop at going after just you. They’ll go after Scott and your father and everyone you love. That’s how they work. That’s how they destroy. They'll burn us to the ground.”

Peter’s heart is calm, thumping one-two-one-two while Stiles’ races with each continued heaving breath. He can himself burning, running a fever, or maybe wolves just run hot. Beneath his hands he can feel each fibre of his jeans as his claws dig into his leg. “You said it would be better,” he says, “You said this…” he gestures at the sights-sound-smell around him, air whistling past his arm, catching on his clothing. His eyes catch sight of the fine dust motes trapped in the sunlight and his heart beat beat beats like a trapped bird struggling to fly. “Would go away.”

His breathing hitches, close to panic. His fangs clip his lip and he sucks in air until his teeth are smooth and human again. Peter just watches, the twisted burnt side of hide face hidden in shadow, “And it will,” he reassures Stiles, “It will, you just have to let it out. Let go of it all, just let it go.”

Stiles looks up, searching Peter’s gaze to ask what the alpha means when suddenly there are claws twisted in the back of his neck, ripping open the still healing scabs and Stiles' whole world shifts.

He’s on his knees in front of the alpha, Peter’s hand behind his head, claws buried in his neck, and Stiles can feel them shifting inside him…

And fangs elongate and his eyes flare, and Peter’s red gaze bores into him and the world is so, so loud and it floods through his senses like fire in his blood.

The claws scrape bone and that is the point that Stiles screams.

 

Stiles wakes an indeterminable amount of time later, in a cocoon of blankets nestled next to a sleeping alpha werewolf.

He realises it almost straight away. The whole world is muted.

Or maybe not muted, but focussed. In his ears is the clear steady heartbeat of his alpha and nothing else. There is no competing sound, no noise from half a mile away invading his senses. He breathes in and his hearing switches, hearing air whistled down his throat and lungs.

He needs to be getting back, he thinks, everyone will be missing him, everyone will think he's been kidnapped.

But there is a warm, furry weight next to him and when he blinks he's not surprised to see the Alpha next to him. Not Peter, the man with the burnt face, but the animal, the creature with the monstrous form.

He should be scared.

He should be terrified.

Instead he's oddly content. It's his Alpha. There's nothing to be afraid of.

Stiles closes his eyes and drifts back to sleep.

 

Scott stumbles out of their chemistry test and nobody stumbles after him. There is a pause where Allison half expects someone to stand and leave in his footsteps, but that’s when she remembers. Allison is suddenly keenly aware that Scott's best friend is missing, that Scott is alone and practically friendless and…

And she stands up, ignoring Harris, and grabs her bag to head after him. The corridor is empty, but for the sound of a door slamming shut. That's where she heads to, slowing down and sliding inside.

"Scott?" she calls, dropping her bag by the door and stepping forwards, "Scott, are you in here?"

She can hear heavy breathing, and she steps forwards along the rows of lockers. Her heart beats quickly, anxious and nervous and scared suddenly. It reminds her of Friday night.

She shouldn't be scared. She shouldn't be weak.

She walks forwards, head held high.

There are footsteps the other side of the locker and she freezes, listening to them pace closer and closer and…

She screams a little as Jackson appears around from the lockers. "What the hell?" she hisses.

"This is the boys’ locker room," Jackson says with a frown, "What are you even doing here?"

"Looking for Scott." she says, and she proves this by looking around, "Is he in here?"

Jackson shrugs, "How should I know?"

Allison stares, "Fine," she shrugs, "I'm going to look for him."

"Wait… wait…" Jacksons tumbles after her, grabbing a t-shirt as he goes. Allison prefers that, because as good looking as Jackson is without a shirt, it makes her feel uncomfortable. "Why are you even looking for McCall? I thought you dumped him after Friday?"

"I did," she says, "But Stiles is still missing and Scott is his best friend."

"Stilinski is a creep," Jackson curls his lip, "The math teacher caught him looking through crime scene photos he stole from his dad."

Allison shrugs, "He's Scott's friend," she argues, "I barely know him and I'm not exactly wandering looking for Stiles now, am I? I'm looking for Scott." She can still hear the heavy breathing. She glances towards the showers and she wants to step over to see him but… what if he was indecent? "Is that him?" she asks.

Jackson follows her gaze, and rolls his eyes. He steps out and around the corner to the showers. "McCall, Allison's here." he says, gesturing to her. She pokes her head around to see the other teenager.

Scott is doubled over, eyes closed and hands clenched into fists.

"Scott?" Allison asks cautiously, "Are you okay?"

"Don't…" Scott says, but it sounds like he's talking around a brace. "Go away."

Allison steps forwards, "Scott, We're worried about you." Jackson snorts. "I'm worried about you."

"It's not safe," Scott moans, as if in pain. Concerned suddenly, Allison steps up behind him, feeling a rush of tenderness.

She reached out and lays a hand on his shoulder. She doesn't expect the flinch, or for Scott to turn around, hand lashing out at her. She ducks back as he swing goes wide, fingers splayed in a swipe as she stumbles backwards.

"Scott?" is all she manages to get out before he looks up, and growls.

He’s a werewolf.

Jackson swears and Allison presses her hands to her mouth to stop the scream. Scott's eyes are yellow and his teeth are pointed into fangs. There are claws instead of nails and he is still growling.

"Move," Jackson yanks her backwards just as Scott leaps forwards. He crashes into the wall and bounces off it, springing towards them.

She darts backwards, between two rows of lockers and there is a flash as something jumps overhead.

Scott, she realises. Scott's attacking them.

Oh god, it’s the full moon today.

Scott's wild and feral and Jackson thuds into her, dragging her forwards. "Are you crazy? Move!" he tugs her along, around the lockers and they freeze, because Scott's standing there in front of the door.

He's growling. Like an animal. He doesn't even appear to recognise them.

"This way," Allison moves this time, back along the lockers towards the other door out to the lacrosse pitch. Scott snarls and moves after them. Jackson stumbles backwards, throwing something at him that he's grabbed from the bench, but Scott just bats it aside with a clawed hand.

Oh god. Allison is going to die. In a school. Stalked by a predator.

"Get out!" Lydia is screaming suddenly, and Allison can't see the red head, but she hears the panic and she and Jackson bolt, just as Scott lunges and something metallic bangs together.

The lockers tip and without even slowing they crash down, falling over. Behind them Lydia is standing, hands still up from where she had pushed them over. And Scott…

Scott is groaning underneath, blinking and trying to shift into a more comfortable position considering the locker sitting on his back.

Lydia steps backwards daintily. "Scott?" she asks.

There is an answering groan and Allison leaps forwards to try and move the locker. Jackson grabs her arm, "Are you kidding? He just tried to kill us!"

"It's a full moon," Lydia looks towards them, as Allison shakes her arm loose of Jackson's grip.

"Scott?" she asks, cautiously.

"Allison?" she hears, human and frail. She rushes forwards despite her misgivings.

Scott is lying down, pressed to the ground by the locker but as she approaches he shifts, one hand coming out and shoving the metal aside until he can roll  out. He looks dazed, blinking and his arms are shaking. "Allison?" he asks, and stares at her in horror, "Did I? Oh god…" he shoves himself away from her. "Oh my… I'm so sorry. I'm sorry… I didn't mean…"

"Hey!" Allison holds up her arms, "It's okay! It's okay, seriously! Scott, don't worry!"

"Don't worry?" his breathing hitches and he looks like he's hyperventilating. Or maybe having as asthma attack, "I almost killed you! I almost…" he is panicking, and suddenly Lydia is there, thrusting something at him.

"Breathe," Lydia commands. Scott fumbles with the inhaler and sucks in the medicine like a drowning man.

He blinks at it as his breathing was evening out, "I was having an asthma attack?" he asks.

"Panic attack," Lydia sniffs, "But thinking you were having an asthma attack actually stopped the panic attack. Irony." she smiles, rocking back on her heels, "So. I think werewolves are something we need to talk about."

Allison flinches a little at the word, "Werewolf?" she asks, "I mean… I knew that monster was… but you… you too?”

Scott nods, staring at her with fear, "I couldn't tell you," he whispers, "I'm sorry."

“I… kind of guessed,” she tries to laugh it off. “I mean… the wolfsbane bullets?”

"It walked like a man," Jackson whispers, "Like a man and a beast."

"It took Stiles," Scott gasps out, "After killing the janitor and trying to get me to kill you. Then he took Stiles."

"He? Who is it?" Allison asks. "Was it Derek Hale?"

Scott shakes his head, frowning. "Derek is a werewolf but he says… he says there is another. An alpha. The alpha killed his sister and is the one who bit me and Stiles."

"Stiles and I," Lydia says, and Jackson stares at her. She stares back unabashedly, "The correct grammar: Stiles and I."

Jackson snorts, "Can you get it for me?" he asks, turning to Scott, "Can you get that for me, too?"

"What??" Allison looks at him, confused.

"Get what?" Scott asks.

"The bite, dumbass," Jackson frowns, "Or is it something else?"

"You want to be a werewolf?" Scott looks astounded. He doesn't, Allison realises suddenly, Scott doesn't want this, he doesn't want to be a monster and he didn't want to hurt her. He looks so frail sitting there, inhaler held loosely in his hands.

And Jackson looks gleeful, as if it's Christmas come early. He's insecure, Allison realises, and he always will be. He has to be the best, has to be better… He wants the bite like a poor man wants money, and a starved man wants food. Yet Jackson isn't poor, and isn't starved, he's sated and bored and needs to be better.

"You sure you want this?" Scott spreads out his hands, "The mood swings? The hyped up senses? The lack of control? The blood lust? The sleepwalking and creepy moments when the alpha works his way into your head?! Do you want to be a monster? Because I don't! I didn't ask for this! I didn't ask for… for the powers and all the crap that came with it like full moons and hunters and…" he stops suddenly and glances stricken at Allison.

She blinks, "Hunters?" she asks, and Scott and Lydia both look nervous now, and Allison already knows what they are going to say.

 

The full moon is on the rise and Stiles can feel it already. There's a thrumming in his veins, and his senses are loud and sharp but not overwhelming. Not yet.

Peter stalks past him, grabbing something off a shelf. "You can't tell anyone," he says, "Not Scott, and certainly not Derek."

"Derek's alive?" Stiles asks, numbly.

Peter shrugs, "I imagine so." he doesn't seem to care much. Stiles realises he doesn't either.

"I won't tell." Stiles says, because what else can he say? He's standing there of his own volition, half-way between agreeing with the man, agreeing with the murders, and the rest of the way protecting his friends and family.

He remembers the wet snap of the guy's neck in his hands. He can still remember the feeling of their blood dripping down from his claws.

It doesn't feel wrong. It doesn't feel right either, but mostly he just… doesn't feel anything. He doesn't think that's right, but Peter is happy and so Stiles is content too.

"What are we doing?" he asks.

"You." Peter turns to him, "Are going back to them. But we need to make it believable. And we need to teach you control. So I've got a way in which we can achieve both in one move."

"What is it?"

"At the moment you can force the shift back," Peter says, "But you need to do more. Its one thing to avoid the wolf entirely, but you need to embrace it. Only once you embrace it can you control it."

"How?" Stiles asks, as Peter leads him outside. There's a car parked there, and Peter holds out the keys, unlocking it.

"You need to force the power to listen to you. Not when your instincts or inner animal scream at you to react… when you want a reaction." Peter opens the trunk and gestures to the inside, "You're to stay in here. A small space to elicit panic, as well as keep you contained."

Stiles blinks, alarmed suddenly. "And by locking me in a car boot that's going to work?"

"You need to stop yourself ripping it up. You need to force it down, control it, because otherwise… what do you think your father will assume when he sees it? It will be like an animal was let loose inside. And animal that is his son. So you control it. Don't let it control you. If you can fight back the shift, fight back the panic, if you can stop a shift in the midst of pain and fear and anxiety, then you can start one again. Whenever. You. Want."

"But…" Stiles is still wary. He's still confused. "How will this help… the…" he gestures around, "Senses."

"Your power," Peter says gently, "Includes heightened senses, extra strength, several other skills that I won't go into now… it's usually focussed on wherever you want it to be focussed. But your brain…" he taps Stiles on the head, "You're focussing it into the senses without even realising. Once you learn this type of control though… you can redirect it. It's just power. It won't ever quite fade… that's just who you are… but the enhanced senses such as now on a full moon… that is power that you can redirect."

"Redirect where?"

Peter shrugs, "Your strength. Your speed. Or… as pack… you can redirect it to me. Help me heal. Or help me become stronger."

Stiles eyes the boot again, "And this is the one way?" he asks, still dubious. Peter rests on gently hand on the back of Stiles' neck, between his shoulder blades. "What's the point of this?" Stiles leans forwards, ducking down to look at the car trunk. "Is there a point to this? Because I can escape easily, you know?"

"The idea," Peter purrs, "Is that you don't escape." he steps up right behind Stiles, resting one hand on the gap between the beta's shoulder blades. "You wolf out, destroy the car, then when they find you they'll realise something is wrong. When your dad finds you he'll find a wrecked car boot clawed up by an animal." His grip on Stiles' shoulder grows tighter, feels heavier to Stiles. "Or... You learn control. You persevere. You keep calm and controlled and our little secret will be safe."

"So it's meant to teach me control?" Stiles asks.

He cranes his neck and sees Peter's face twist in a wicked grin, highlighting the burn scars on the side of his face, "That's right." his alpha says, and then he's leaning, full weight on Stiles and the beta has nowhere to go but to fall forwards as Peter shoves him into the trunk, leans back and slams the door.

The light vanishes but he can still feel the moonlight pulsing through his skin and a whimper tears through his throat and the darkness swallows him whole.


	13. Claustrophobic

Stiles panics within the first minute, and he begins writhing. The moon drunk feeling from earlier leaves him, draining away to be replaced by panic and desperation. "Peter!" he calls out, "PETER!" he yells, hands lashing out. His hands meet material and he presses upwards, feeling out the confines of his prison.

For a moment he thinks he can hear his alpha's heartbeat outside, but it's getting steadily fainter. Peter is leaving. Leaving him. His breath whistles uselessly in his throat. He chokes, feeling his world close in as a panic attack begins to converge on him.

His hands reach out blindly as he claws at the interior of the boot. He feels the material shred beneath claws and he freezes, suddenly aware of everything. His senses snap into focus with horrible clarity, the scratching of his claws and the thudding of his heartbeat.

He lets out a breath mechanically and sucks it back in. Control. He needs to control it.

Resisting every impulse to lash out with supernatural strength, Stiles curls his hands into fists and closes his eyes, breathing slowly and steadily. He can do this. It was just one night and then he'd come out stronger for it.

And eventually his hands fall to his sides and his head turns into the blanket at the bottom of the trunk, inhaling the musty scent as he steels himself for a long wait.

 

It’s nice to be in the know about everything. Allison is no longer left out of the circle, no longer left to try and work out the truth from the lies. There are no false stories about a man controlling a monster just the cold hard truth.

It’s also weird, especially when Lydia drops the chains on the table in front of her and Scott.

“Uh… we’re not into that sort of thing,” Allison says.

“Mind. Out of gutter.” Lydia commands, “I’m going to chain you up. Where is a good place?”

“Not the school,” Scott decides, “Not after Friday.”

Allison considers what they’re planning, how they’re going to keep a werewolf contained on the night of the full moon. She thinks about how she should probably tell her dad, but her dad might just shoot Scott without asking questions.

But maybe her dad wouldn’t. Maybe her dad would help them find Stiles. Maybe he’d have somewhere to lock up Scott, maybe he’d have a cure.

The risk of Scott ending up with a wolfsbane bullet in his chest is too great. And Allison doesn’t know if her reluctance to tell is because she doesn’t know what her dad will do, if it’s because she doesn’t know what her aunt will do.

She shudders and suggests something, “You said you took Derek to Lydia’s lakehouse? Does that have a basement we could use?”

“Well… yeeeessss…” Lydia draws it out, not looking keen, “But if you claw it up, my mom won’t be happy. Well… she might be very happy, since she got it in the divorce from dad, but we want to sell it eventually so…”

“So where else?” Allison pushes, “Because I can’t think of anywhere, and there will be hunters in the woods tonight. My dad and aunt included.” She wonders if they would have told her, and if she would have been out there too one day, with a crossbow and wolfsbane arrows, shooting at what she believed to be monsters.

They weren’t all monsters, she reminded herself, looking at Scott. Some didn’t deserve to be put down.

Others on the other hand, did. But she wasn’t sure her aunt could tell the difference.

“Meet me at the lake house then,” Lydia sighs, “And considering the moon rose at eight o’clock this morning, I’m going to hazard a guess that the sun being up means it has less effect. So sun sets at around six, meet me there at five. Do you want me to get Jackson there to help chain you up?”

Scott groans, probably at the thought of Jackson being there.

Allison wonders where the other teenager had got to. “Yes,” she decides, because she doesn’t mind Jackson there, “Yeah, we should include him in this. If he wants the bite or whatever stupid thing, we can get it for him. It’s his choice. But he needs to know the dangers as well.”

Scott still doesn’t look keen. Lydia just shrugs.

“I’ve got to go,” Allison stands, “My aunt and dad are waiting for me. And they’re seriously protective after Friday. My dad barely let me out of the car this morning.”

“You can make it out tonight, right?” Scott looks wild and worried for a moment, “Because I… I know me and you… I know we’re not… you want a break and I get that… but I don’t think I can do this without you. Not with Stiles gone.”

Allison smiles at him, “You and I.”

“What?”

“The correct grammar. Is you and I. And you and I are going to be at that lake house tonight. I promise.” She wants to kiss him, but she holds back. She’s still angry, still a little hurt, still needs that distance, but she can be there for him.

She will be there for him. They’ll get through this.

They have to.

 

Kate's fingers tap on the dashboard as she peers out of the car, looking for Allison, "Maybe the second beta isn't just smaller," she tells Chris, "Maybe he's younger."

Which is why as they watch Allison walk away from her friends Lydia and Scott, they both peer out, eyeing the two teenagers silently. "Who are you thinking of?" Chris turns his head sideways to look at her. Kate pretends not to notice and just observes the student mass.

"After the incident at the school…" she begins, humming, "The one kid went missing."

"The Sheriff's son." Chris ducks his head to watch Scott McCall wander towards school, sans his usual sidekick. "It's the full moon tonight." he comments.

"And the strange one - Stiles - is still missing." Kate finally turns her head towards him, triumphantly. "I think we might have our second beta."

Chris slams his foot down, "I think we need more proof," he growls, as the car engine roars to life.

 

Scott’s kept at lacrosse practise after school, and Lydia sits in the stands watching him critically. He can feel her eyeing him for the whole hour, as Coach finally calls everyone in and begins confiding in them. “All right, geniuses, listen up. Due to the recent pink eye epidemic - Thank you, Greenberg - the following people have made first line on a probationary basis, emphasis on the word "probationary." Rodriguez. Welcome to first line. Taylor, and, uh - Oh, for the love of crap. I can't even read my own writing. What is that, an "s" ? No, no, that's not an "s." That's a - that's a - That's a "b." It's definitely a "b." Uh, Rodriguez, Taylor, and, uh - Bilinski.”

There’s an awkward silence, and Scott clears his throat, unable to talk for a moment.

He’s dizzy and he feels sick, but he forces the words out anyway. “Uh, Stiles isn’t in, Coach.” Thanks to the protection of minors, nobody knows who it was in the school the other night, but everyone knows Stiles is missing. Scott is faced with guilty looks and curiosity radiates out at him. It’s even worse because he can smell it all so clearly.

Coach just sighs, “Fine. You.” he jabs his finger at Stiles’ lacrosse assistant buddy since Scott ended up first line. “What’s your name?”

“Lahey.” The kid blinks with wide eyes.

“Good. You’re on first line. Congratulations.”

Scott just feels hollow at how Stiles has missed his chance again because of werewolf issues. It was so unfair. Then Coach turned around to him, a grin on his face. “McCall. You’re co-captain.”

Stiles is kidnapped, possibly dying or dead while Scott is here, and he just keeps getting all the opportunities. Jackson glares at him from where he is, but doesn’t protest, possibly because Lydia is watching from the stands, or because he knows about the werewolf thing and needs Scott to get him a bite. Scott has no idea how to do that, but he doesn’t really care. It’s a mistake, but one Jackson can make for himself. If he gets the bite he’ll be back to being the best player again in no time.

“You don’t look happy,” Lydia completely ignores Jackson to stand in front of Scott when practise finishes, “You’re co-captain. Come on, that’s a step up on your social ladder, right?”

He just feels sad. Not accomplished, not happy, just sad. “Stiles is still missing. And it’s still the full moon.”

Lydia gazes at him for a moment before gesturing to where Jackson stands.

“What?” her boyfriend hisses.

“You agreed to help,” she reminds him prissily, “Didn’t you?”

“I said I wanted the bite.”

“And to do that,” Lydia glances around to check nobody is listening in, “To do that we need Scott. And Scott needs to survive the night without maiming anyone. So we need your help.”

“Whatever,” Jackson tries to look uninterested, as if he isn’t dying of curiosity to know what is going to happen, “Isn’t Snow White showing up?”

“Allison is meeting us there,” Lydia spins around, “Scott’s riding with me, Jackson is following behind in his Porsche.”

“I’m not doing this for you, McCall.” Jackson snaps at Scott as he makes to follow after Lydia. He grabs hold of Scott’s wrist and the werewolf just tugs his hand free without any effort.

“I know,” he says sadly, “You’re doing it for yourself. Like always.”

Some things, he thinks, never change.

 

Allison just drops the gun into her bag on top of her crossbow when her door opens with a knock. She looks up, plastering a smile on her face, feeling how thin it is when she sees her aunt there.

“Going somewhere?” Kate asks.

“No,” Allison shakes her head, “This is for tomorrow at school. Lydia wanted some things…” she waves her hand around, and slides the bag off her mattress, nudging it under her bed with one foot. “Did you want something?”

Kate grins, and it’s a little too sly and twisted for Allison to feel comfortable. Her aunt used to be a person she could trust, but now she’s a person full of secrets and lies and who openly shoots at people. It scares her, and she’s been finding herself going through every action with new knowledge, wondering what was a lie and what was real.

Kate waves a taser in front of her, “I thought.” She says, stepping into the room and closing her door behind her, “I thought you could use a little practise with this. Your dad wants you to have one, especially after what happened Friday.”

“Really…?” Allison is doubtful, but she forces a nod, “Okay, if you and dad are sure…?”

“Of course. We want you safe.” Kate stalks forwards, grabbing Allison’s desk chair and placing it at the far side of the room, “Do you have something we can… aha…”

It worries Allison more than it should that Kate goes for the stuffed bear. Allison doesn’t have any stuffed dogs, she thinks suddenly. She has no stuffed dogs or wolves and the one time she had wanted a stuffed wolf her mother had denied it to her.

And now she knows why.

“Here…”

All things about Kate aside, she is a good teacher, correcting Allison’s hold and steadying her arm as Allison aims, “And what is our victim’s name?”

“Mr. Bear.” Allison says, trying not to see Scott at the end of the taser. Scott wolfed out with yellow eyes, or Stiles with blood on his fangs.

“You named your teddy bear ‘Mr. Bear’? That’s, like, the worst teddy bear name ever.”

“I was five years old,” she defends herself.

“Well just shoot your unimaginatively named bear and put it out of its misery.”

Allison fakes a laugh and pulls the trigger. The electric prongs shoot out, sparking a little as they hit the brown furry bear. For a moment she sees Scott with yellow eyes or Lydia with a flower and a bullet and she drops the taser, startled. Up until now she’s been considering telling her dad everything. She’s been considering telling him who is safe and who isn’t, what exactly is going on and what she knows.

She’s changed her mind, she realises, watching the sparks die and her teddy bear slump.

“Woah! Nice!” Kate whistles, “Just, don’t drop your gun.” She is admiring the shot, admiring the kill.

It’s not a kill. Allison isn’t a hunter.

Yet she’s been trained to be one. Gymnastics, Archery, Shooting… she’s been trained all this time and she didn’t even realise it.

“Hey, are you okay?” Kate says with a smile, “I thought you wanted to learn this?”

She does, she thinks. She wants to learn how to defend herself. She wants to be strong.

But she doesn’t want to hunt werewolves. She doesn’t want to hunt Scott. She wants to help, to save them. To bring Stiles back home to his father, to allow Scott to be a werewolf and not hurt anyone. To keep Lydia away from werewolf shenanigans. To kill the alpha that turned them both.

She wants to be a hunter, but she doesn’t want to hunt mindlessly without reason.

“It’s just a bit of a shock,” she finds herself saying, “After Friday… and Scott…”

“You’re going to break hearts, sweetie.”

“I know… I just… things felt so right with him. And I miss him, but…” she shrugs, “I just… can I have some time… alone to process it? Please?” she shoots pleading eyes at her aunt who crumples.

“Of course. If you need a shoulder to cry on, I’m here. Don’t mope in your room for too long.”

Allison smiles, watching as her aunt goes, “I won’t.” she says, playing with the taser still in her hand. Her foot is pressed against the bag under her bed and her clock is counting down to sunset in a little bit.

She won’t be moping in her room long at all.

In fact, she won’t be anywhere near her room.

 

“How sure are you, that this is going to work?”

“Pretty sure.”

“How sure is pretty sure?”

“Can you stop questioning me?” Lydia snaps, as she clips the last chain closed. “I know what I’m doing.”

“In theory,” Scott stresses at her. “You’ve never chained down a werewolf before.”

Lydia shrugs, “We’ll be leaving you alone in here. Allison and Jackson will be other side of the door if you need them.”

“And you?” Scott asks.

“I’m going to be listening in on any calls to and from Chris Argent’s phone.”

Scott gapes at her. She just smiles. “I know.” She says, “I’m brilliant. Well, Danny is, but I’m brilliant at bribing him.” She steps back, admiring her handiwork, “We don’t know where Stiles is,” she says, trying to ignore the way Scott’s face falls and her own heart plummets. She’s grown to appreciate Stiles as a friend in the past two weeks. “It’s likely that if what you say last time is true, then he will remain in control, or at least attempt to find his dad in order to do so. If not…” she lets the sentence hang for a moment, “Well, that’s why we’re monitoring the hunter’s phones.”

Scott nods, testing the chain slightly. It rattles and then pulls taunt. There’s barely any slack, barely any room for him to move. “This is good.” He says, “I’ll be fine. Now go… I can feel it already.”

“What does it feel like?”

“Like bugs crawling over my skin,” he groans, eyes clamping shut as he curls up a little bit, “Or under my skin. And like there’s something in my head telling me to do stuff. Like run and hunt and…” he groans again, Lydia steps towards the door.

“It will be okay,” she says, and he looks up with golden eyes, “It will,” she says, promising, “They’ll find Stiles and we’ll get through this. Together.”

The door closes and Lydia leaves Scott alone in the dark.

 

It’s madness inside his head. Scott wonders if this is what it feels like for Stiles. There is something crawling its way out of him, and he growls, tugging at the chains. He needs to move - run - find his pack mate - hunt… It’s all instincts and primal drive.

“Scott? Are you okay there? Jackson and I are right here?”

Then Scott can think, even if it is only AllisonAllisonAllison. He focusses on her flutter bird heart and takes a deep breath. What comes out when he releases it is a growl, low and threatening. “It hurts,” he speaks around his fangs, and it sounds weird, “It’s like a rope from the moon to my brain.”

“Cut it.” Allison says instantly, “You don’t need that to control this. You’re a werewolf. You’re not a monster, you’re _you_.” There is a pause, “My aunt wants to shoot you. She doesn’t know it’s you, but if she did I think she’d shoot you. Because all she sees is a monster. A rabid killer. Not the person underneath.”

Scott curls his nails into his palms. They break the skin and he hisses under his breath.

“I guess I’m lucky then…” there is a clunk that signifies Allison lying against the door, “I’m lucky I got to know you first, and then the other side of you. Because I love both.”

Scott looks up, “Love?” he whispers.

“Oh god--“ Jackson curses and floorboards creak as he moves, “Do I have to stay here for--“

“Scott?” Allison whispers, “I… I still need a little bit of time but… yes. I think I love you.”

“The moon is up,” Jackson snaps in the background, “Isn’t he meant to be howling and crying out in pain by now?”

He should, but his nails are human and his teeth are flat and not fanged. “I’m not shifting,” he says, in wonder, “I’m… Allison… you’re helping my shift. You being here… I can concentrate. I can control it.” He listens to her heart beat, smells her scent through the door, “I can control it.”

“She’s your anchor.” It’s another voice and for a moment Scott’s control is shattered and he growls, but then he catches himself and scents and hears more than sees Derek’s arrival.

The door creaks, and Allison scrambles up. Derek stands in the doorway, eyeing Scott who still sits chained on the floor. Scott just stares up in amazement. “You’re alive?”

Derek shrugs, eyeing the chains, “Good job,” he says, “You can control it. But we’ll leave you there just in case you slip.”

Allison darts past, pausing for a moment at seeing Scott so chained up. It’s almost humiliating, but it’s _Allison_ and he doesn’t mind. He offers her a weak grin and she returns it, sitting down next to him. “That’s good, right? That you can control it?”

“Yippee…” Jackson retreats back up the stairs to find Lydia, ignoring Derek’s disapproving glare at his back.

“You can control it now,” Derek says, “It’s a good start. What you need to be able to do though is control yourself when the alpha orders you to do something again. You’ll be compelled to follow his orders, and it’s likely your friends, while safe now, won’t be then.” He eyes up Allison, but makes no comment on the presence of the Argent.

“If you’re so concerned with keeping everyone safe from me,” Scott snaps, “then where the hell were you that night at the school? You ditched us. I almost killed everyone.”

Derek glares. “I crawled away to heal or die in peace. I was acting on instinct.”

“But,” Allison says. “You took your car with you.”

“Werewolf instincts are complex.”

“But--“

“What do you know?” Derek growls at her, “You’re an Argent.”

“I’m not like the rest of my family,” Allison leans away from his words slightly, “And I don’t want to be. I want to help.”

Derek glares at her. Allison glares back. Scott falls a little bit more in love with her. But there is something more important he has been meaning to ask Derek.

“Is there a cure?” he asks, “I… I can’t be a werewolf forever with the hunters and the full moons… Allison almost couldn’t sneak out tonight. I wouldn’t have… I would have been feral.”

“There is one that I’ve heard of,” Derek glances around uneasily. “I’ve heard that if you kill the one that bit you it will cure the bite.”

Scott feels a rush of relief because there is something he can do. There is a cure, a solution, there is an answer…

But Allison is looking between him and Derek with a frown and Scott’s thoughts stutter to a halt.

“But that means…” he says it out loud, facing the reality, “It can be me or Stiles.”

“Yes,” Derek still looks uncomfortable, “And Stiles… he’ll be with the alpha right now. Which means that tomorrow, we need to find him. Because if we find Stiles, we find the alpha. And if we kill the alpha, we get you your cure.”

Something rings false, but Scott clutches to the hope like a dying flame. He sinks back suddenly exhausted, still feeling the moon under his skin, but feeling sane and human, not rabid and animal. There’s a chance for humanity. A chance for a cure.

He’ll take it, he thinks, but whether for himself or for his still missing best friend, he’s still not quite sure yet.

 

Stiles doesn’t know how long it is, but there must be a noise or something that triggers his awareness. He’s been in the trunk for hours. He spent at least one hour calling out for Peter to come back, but wherever the alpha was, he wasn’t there.

Peter had left him. He had felt a sting of betrayal and abandonment, but it got swamped down into sympathy and sorrow. This had been how Peter had felt when Derek and Laura abandoned him. This had been Peter’s situation, trapped and unable to get out while his pack left him there to suffer.

Stiles knows that Peter hasn’t left him. His Alpha wouldn’t just abandon him.

Yet at the same time he knows Peter isn’t coming back.

So Stiles waits. He waits and waits and his heart beats slowly, one two one two and the world is no longer closing in on him. It’s quiet and almost muffled, and he can pick out whatever he wants to hear and smell.

He can also feel his new nature, the wolf side of him. Scott had tried to describe his full moon run as if something had taken over him, but Stiles doesn’t feel that. There is no creature lurking in the back of his mind. Stiles cannot tell where his thoughts end and the wolf's begin. They are one. One body. One mind. One heart. There is no struggle for control. Instead Stiles feels calm, thoughts no longer racing, mouth no longer running amok.

It’s kind of peaceful, and the silence is almost comforting now that his brain shuts up.

He can also feel Peter. In the same way he used to be able to sense everything, he can sense the Alpha as if he was in physical proximity. It’s not physical, not in the slightest. It’s all mental, beta to alpha, and the pair are bonded through claws and blood and the thrill of the moon.

It’s enough for Stiles to pass the time, leaning into that comfort and offering support back. His Alpha is still weak, still healing, but his rise from beta to alpha himself when he killed Laura jumpstarted the healing process to that final level. He’s conscious, he’s awake, if not sane, but Stiles doesn’t care. Peter’s his Alpha, and even despite his sanity, his plan is well thought out.

Stiles is prepared to help it along. He’s prepared to get his claws dirty if that is what is needed to keep his family safe.

That’s the same reason he stays still and silent, waiting for something he doesn’t even know. There’s a sound first, that startles him into opening his eyes. He can see perfectly in the dark, so he tones it down a little, and he knows his eyes have dimmed from a brilliant blue to their usual brown.

There are shouts and he extends his senses, allowing himself to be the decider of what sounds he hears, when he hears it and how far he wants his senses to range. He listens to the heart beat, the voice, the tone, the words…

He recognises them. It’s Tara - his dad’s deputy - and it’s one of the few things that stirs him from his still frozen state of perpetually shivering in the dark.

“Hey!” he clenches his fist and knocks on the trunk. “Hey! Someone! Tara! Get me out!”

He can hear voices, shouting clearly. It’s like everything is perfectly in tune all of a sudden.

Then the trunk is yanked open and Stiles is blinded, flinching back from the sudden change in light.

“Stiles? Oh god, thank god, your dad… Stiles?”

He shoves himself up and out, forgetting he hasn’t moved for ages and tripping over himself, falling to the ground. He wonders stupidly whose car Peter left him in. “Tara?” he asks, but his throat is dry all of a sudden. He feels weak and dizzy and hungry and…

“Hey?” Tara leans into his field of vision. “Stiles? Are you okay? I’m so glad we found you, your dad is out of his mind with worry.”

Stiles blinks, “Why?” he frowns, “How long…?” he tries to think but his thoughts are sluggish. He’s been with Peter since Friday. What day is it today?

“It’s Wednesday, honey.”

Stiles hadn’t realised he’d spoken out loud. The full moon was Monday, which means he’s spent just over a day in the trunk of the car. “Where’s my dad?” he asks, numbly, because he’s been missing since Friday. That’s five days. Five days his dad would have spent searching for him while he spent it curled up asleep next to his Alpha.

His Alpha?

Stiles’ thoughts are stuttered and failing rapidly, and he feels everything slipping. “Hold on,” Tara grabs one arm, the right one, where Peter’ fangs had first triggered the change from where they had torn into his wrist.

Stiles pulls away, “I want my dad,” he mumbles.

“Can I at least get you into my car?” Tara asks gently.

“I…” Stiles is lost suddenly, not sure what to do, “My dad.” He says again.

Tara sighs, as if sensing she isn’t going to budge him. “He’s on his way, kiddo. He’s coming right now.”

He relaxes ever so slightly, relief creeping into his bones. His dad is alive and safe and Stiles is going to make sure he stays that way. “I’m waiting.” He says.

“Of course you are.” Tara’s sigh is fond, “He’ll be here shortly.”

Stiles curls up on the ground and Tara sits nearby, close enough for comfort but not physically touching. Tara knows better than to ask questions about what’s happened, especially while Stiles is still confused, still half way between Alpha and wolf and dad and his thought process is still tripping it’s way along weakly.

They wait for Stiles’ dad in silence.


	14. Killer

"Did you hear?" Allison appears in front of Scott at school on Thursday, "They found Stiles yesterday afternoon."

Scott looks drawn and nods at her words, "I heard. They said I could visit him at hospital this evening."

"I heard..." Jackson stalks up, "That he spent his time in the trunk of a car for the whole time and he has no information about the kidnapper, the guy in the school or anything."

"That's impossible," Lydia sniffs, standing at her boyfriend's elbow, "Assuming he spent all his time locked up with no food or water since Friday... The human body can't survive that long without water, so if that was true he'd be dead, unless he..." she stops, glaring sharply at Scott, "Unless he had particularly strong endurance." she says but everyone the hears the words 'unless he was a werewolf.'

"Well actually," a voice chimes in, "It was only thirty-six hours in the trunk. Monday night to Wednesday afternoon."

Lydia whirls around to see Stiles standing behind her with a grin.

"Stiles!" Scott leaps forwards, and looks like he is about to crash into his friend when he reconsiders it, "Shouldn't you be in the hospital?" he asks, arms still hanging mid-air.

"They released me last night," Stiles shrugs with a grin, "Doctors gave me the all clear."

"And no dehydration?" Lydia looks at him sharply.

"I think we both know that isn't going to be a problem," and there is something wrong with Stiles. The thought that had occurred to Scott before twinges in his mind.

Because if Stiles was a werewolf then why didn't he escape? Why didn't he break free and rip his way out?

And the only answer to that was either, Stiles physically couldn't, he wasn't allowed to, or he didn't want to.

 

Scott corners Stiles in the locker room. Stiles is collecting his kit from the locker, since of course he’s not been using it for the past few weeks. He’s not on the team, Scott thinks with a pang. Stiles has missed the opportunity.

"Are you okay?" Scott had so many things to say but that's the first thing that comes out.

Stiles looks almost amused by it, "Why don't you ask what you really want to ask?" he asks with a smirk.

Scott doesn't know where to start. Stiles smells strange.

Not just strange like ‘ate something funny’ but strange as in ‘I’ve been hanging out with someone you don’t know’. The smell is familiar, but not clear enough for Scott to place the scent. Stiles himself appears unruffled, calmly pacing around and doing everything as if he hadn’t been missing for the past four days.

“Dude,” Scott hisses, “Where were you?”

Stiles shrugs and there is a strange lightness in his step and his eyes are bright, brighter than Scott’s seen them for a long time. “About,” he grins. “How are you doing, Scotty? How’s the break up?”

“Yeah,” Scott swallows, “About that…” he pauses, because Stiles has turned away, back to him as he pulls out socks from his locker. “Stiles…” he begins, unsure of how to say it.

Stiles’ locker slams closed and Allison leans on the other side. Stiles doesn’t flinch, just blinks lazily at her. “I know,” she says, ending that problem.

Stiles raises one eyebrow, "This is the boys locker room," he says, unnecessarily.

“I know about you and Scott.” Allison says, and after glancing around leans closer, “I know you're werewolves.”

Stiles’ grin is anything but nice. “Do you now?” he asks, “And what about…?”

“I know about my family,” Allison hisses, pulling away as Stiles leans closer to her. “And I’m not going to hunt you down. I’m going to help Scott avoid detection from them while helping you find the alpha.”

“And what?” Stiles leans back, “Makes you think I need to find the Alpha?”

And Scott’s breath hitches, because the scent hits him, reminding him of woods and bite and blood and… “You’ve been with him, haven’t you?”

Stiles’ gaze is deep and Scott can’t read the emotions in there as Stiles flashes the pair a slight grin, not quite a smirk, but not exactly a happy smile either.

"Why didn't you escape?" Allison asks curiously, "From the alpha. From the car. You're a werewolf…"

Stiles just inclines his head, "I didn't want to," he says simply. "My Alpha was there and I didn't want to." Scott hears the capital letter.

"You didn't want to escape from the alpha?" Scott spits out. In the background Allison is mouthing 'my alpha' but Scott isn't listening. "What do you…" Scott frowns, "Why not? He's the one who bit us! He's the one who did this to us and he's the one who can fix us."

"Fix?" Stiles stops suddenly, frowning, "What is there to fix, Scott?"

"This!" Scott waves a hand around. "The fact we turn into bloodthirsty monsters on the full moon. The fact you can barely focus anymore because all your senses are constantly hyped up to one hundred percent. Derek says there may be a way to go back…"

"Go back?" Stiles laughs, "Why would I want to go back?" and he's staring at Scott with confusion. "Can't you see?" he steps forwards, some of his usual fire sparking in his eyes, "He helped me to tune it out and he helped me to control it. It was needed and I might not have liked it, and it might not have been the best way but it worked, okay? It worked and I couldn't ask for anything more. Because now, Scott?" he grins, "Now I've got a pack. I've got the control and you?" he moves forwards until he is standing within an inch of Scott. Scott can feel his friend's breath, and now he can clearly smell the twisted burnt smell that clings to the other wolf. "You don't," Stiles whispers.

And his eyes twist in colour. Scott's expecting gold, which is why when the spark of colour is a brilliant electric blue it makes his breath catch.

Because it's wrong. It's unnatural. Stiles is broken, and Scott's just watched this alpha dismantle his friend in a few days and rebuild the broken pieces.

"You know who the alpha is," Allison says loudly from behind Scott, "Are you going to tell us?"

"You'll find out," Stiles finally steps backwards giving Scott room to breathe, "Give it time and everything will work out," he doesn't look at Allison, gaze sliding right past her as he turns and makes for the exit. "I wouldn't want to spoil anything," he says over his shoulder and then he's gone, and Scott can't help but think that everything he knew of his friend is gone too.

 

“Why him?”

Stiles sits on the Beacon Hills High School sign, watching with feigned boredom as Peter opens up his underground vault. One thing Stiles has never realised is how old a family the Hales really were.

He slips off as the sign moves, and Peter gestures him forwards. It’s a roundabout way into the school, but it will be their exit too. Somewhere to slip away to when the cops turn up.

Stiles tries not to think how if he does something wrong Peter may just hang around and wait for his dad. He’s trying not to think of all the threats Peter has made, he just focusses on the plan. Revenge. For safety.

It makes sense. Stiles can see that. He knows that if he was in the same place, he’d do exactly what Peter was doing.

Okay, so maybe he’d settle for getting them arrested, but his claws are already dirty, what was a few more bodies to add to the pile?

“Can’t you simply accept the reason that he is a rubbish chemistry teacher?”

“It makes it easier,” Stiles agrees, following idly behind his Alpha. “But what link does he have to the fire?”

“You really think Kate Argent knows everything there is about setting houses on fire?” Peter scoffs, “Someone told her. Someone told her how to burn the whole place down as quickly and as easily as possibly without getting caught. Someone told her how to get a fire hot enough to not just burn people alive, but burn werewolves until they were dead.”

“Our _chemistry_ teacher?”

“Kate was a pretty woman. A man will do a lot for a pretty woman who appears interested in what he has to say. Even if it is about chemistry.”

There are still lights on when they finally make it out of the basement and into the school corridor. Peter heads unnervingly for the chemistry labs and Stiles tries not to think about how only a week ago he had been trapped in there, fearing for his life as Peter had stalked around them like a predator.

Harris is bent over his desk, scrawling on papers. Knowing his luck, one of them is probably Stiles’. Peter opens the door and paces in, and Harris just freezes as if he knows what is going to happen.

He probably does. He’s a clever man. A clever teacher with no patience for pupils. He’s like Beacon Hill’s own Severus Snape.

“I didn’t know.” He says, voice breaking slightly.

Peter just laughs. Stiles’ chemistry teacher is bent over his desk and his hand darts out to a note that Stiles left there earlier on Peter’s request. It’s a list, and he knows what is coming.

“Please. Don’t kill me.”

“Do you know who wrote that list?” Peter asks, conversationally.

“Laura. Laura Hale.”

“And do you know _why_ she was looking for you?”

Peter’s enjoying this far too much. Stiles just shifts uneasily and waits for his Alpha’s instructions. He knows Harris is going to die. So does Peter. So does Harris.

“No.” Adrian Harris’ voice trembles, “No… I… I don’t know.”

Peter kicks a desk aside and Harris flinches. “You know what I heard?” Peter asks, “Your heart beating slightly faster. You’re lying.”

“No… No I’m not.”

“Another lie.”

“She was just a pretty girl.” Harris blurts out, fear getting to his. The scent is acrid and it makes Stiles wince. “Just a pretty girl at the bar.”

“Could you identify her again?”

“She had a necklace on.” Harris is scrawling on a piece of paper, “That’s what I gave to Laura Hale. The image on the necklace. If you find that pendant, you’ll find the woman I talked to. The one who set the fire.”

Peter rocks back, looking satisfied. “Thank you for your co-operation. Just to show you how grateful I am, I’m not going to kill you.”

Stiles’ stomach churns uneasily, even as Harris relaxes. “Thank you,” he breathes, “Thank… thank you…”

Then Peter opens his mouth, “I’ll let my beta develop his howl and snarl a little and do it himself.”

Harris stiffens. Spins around to look and that’s when Peter moves, claws sinking into his chest and holding him still. Stiles flinches back a little as Harris’ gaze wanders over him in disbelief, but then his focus shifts to his Alpha whose eyes are glowing red.

“You want me to kill him?” Stiles gestures at Harris dispassionately.

“No, not at all.” Peter grins, fangs sharp, “I don’t want you to kill him. I want you to murder him.”

“Is there a difference?” Stiles chokes out.

“Yes. It’s in the colour of your eyes,” Peter leers at him, “And we both know what colour your eyes are now, don’t we Stiles? Now.” He throws Harris to the floor and the man lands, arms scrambling for support, “Deal with him.”

The order tingles at the base of Stiles’ spine, making it almost easy to just move, to just follow it. Stiles’ brain is disconnected, but he’s all too aware of the way Harris gasps up at him, the way the blood pours out and the way his own eyes are glowing.

The colour is a brilliant electric blue.

 

Lydia and Allison are hanging around at the Argent house, because all things considered it’s the safest place in Beacon Hills what with a family of hunters living there. What they are doing on the other hand is potentially dangerous because of that same reason. Lydia is still cycling through the video cameras, looking for footage from the night the video teller clerk was killed. Because there must be something somewhere, some clue, some link…

She is so engrossed in her work that she doesn’t notice the window being cranked open. Thankfully Allison does, and then she pulls out a crossbow, leaving Lydia blinking because _where the hell did she pull that from?_ The bow is pointed at the window in three seconds flat, arrow notched and ready and aimed at a startled, wide-eyed, Derek Hale.

“Oh god,” Allison lowers her crossbow, relaxing, and then blinks and jumps up. “No. No no… oh my god, NO! What are you doing here?” she hisses, and then looks around in a panic. She darts to her door and closes it, leaning on it so as to physically prevent someone from appearing through it. “My family is full of hunters who want to kill you! And I… I haven’t even met you properly! We’re not on house-visiting terms!”

“Priorities.” Lydia corrects her frantic friend. “But she’s right. Turning up at the Argent’s lair? Bad idea.”

“I don’t like it either, but no-one was picking up their phone and I couldn’t find Scott!”

Something’s wrong, Lydia thinks, and then decides that much was obvious, “What’s wrong then?” she asks, finally, crossing her arms and leaning back on the bed.

“Adrian Harris is dead.”

“Our _chemistry_ teacher?”

“Yes.” Derek nods, “The alpha killed him, and I got there too late. He was gone, Harris was dead and then the police showed up.”

“You just have the worst luck, don’t you?” Lydia observes. Derek ignores her.

“Did they see you?” Allison asks.

He shakes his head, “They chased me, but I don’t think they got a camera shot. Even if they did my eyes flare in the flash.”

Like animal eyes, Lydia thinks. Naturally.

“There was another scent there.” Derek adds, cautiously. “Stiles.”

Lydia sighs, heart heavy, “Yeah, well he’s working with our mysterious alpha now. Go figure.”

Derek grits his teeth and it makes Lydia cringe. She wonders what might have happened if Scott and Derek had found Stiles earlier, instead of the police a day later. She wonders if it would have made that much difference or if Stiles had already been persuaded to the alpha’s side. As it is nobody knows what to do. Scott won’t push Stiles, won’t threaten or maim or kill his best friend, and he won’t let Derek do it either.

Lydia can tell that Derek wants to though, if only in the way that he clenches his fist. “There’s nothing that can be done,” he sighs, “A beta won’t betray their alpha.”

“You need to lie low,” Lydia decides, “But not here,” she glances at where Allison is still pressed to her bedroom door.

Derek grunts. He is silent for a while. Then, apparently realising he hasn’t said anything opens his mouth, “What about your lake house?”

She dismisses that immediately, “Stiles knows about it. If you meet me by my car we’ll go to my house. Which, let me just say, not my favourite plan, but let’s go with it.”

“I’ve got something,” Derek holds out a piece of paper, “I managed to nap it from Harris’ desk. It’s a list of names of potential people, along with a drawing.”

“Of what?” Lydia reaches out, but Allison beats her too it, grabbing something from around her neck and holding it up. The red head observes the pattern, recognises it and her breath catches.

“It’s my necklace,” Allison breathes, “My pendant… The one that Kate gave me.”

 

Allison can’t stop playing with it. The weight hangs around her neck, heavy and seemingly impossible to forget about. She wants to throw it away, toss it into the deepest ocean and forget about it.

But she knows what it means. She knows why the alpha is going after people, and she knows why Stiles decided to help. She’s not sure how each person is connected, but she knows the one defining factor.

The Hale fire.

It’s not immediately apparent. But the image of Kate holding a match before throwing it down and watching the fire flare up in the fireplace never quite left her. The knowledge that her aunt will shoot werewolves, without even looking to see who it is at the other end of the gun. The knowledge that Adrian Harris recognised her aunt’s necklace from a woman he met at a bar six years ago.

The Hale House burnt to the ground six years ago.

Which means there is only really one solution. One answer to fit the puzzle. Allison hasn’t even admitted it to herself yet, let alone the others. They’ve scoured the necklace for clues, but Allison knows there are none there that can be seen.

“So how did Harris know your aunt?” Lydia frowns, as she stops her car outside the school.

Allison shrugs, “I don’t know.” She pretends, “She used to live in Beacon Hills though for a time. Maybe they met.”

Lydia is shrewd. Lydia is the most likely person to work it all out, but Lydia doesn’t have enough information. The facts are too spread out, and there aren’t enough links.

And even with the links it doesn’t help them. Allison doesn’t know who the alpha werewolf is. It must be someone who wants revenge, but the only survivors of the fire either fled to New York or are spending their days in a coma.

“We’ll talk to Scott,” Lydia decides, pushing her door open and then pausing. Allison slips out the passenger door without really looking and it’s only when she closes it again, looking over the roof of the car that she sees what Lydia has seen.

Police tape surrounds parts of the school, and there are forensics wandering around in white suits.

It looks like a crime scene.

It is a crime scene.

“So,” Lydia stands glancing over at her, “I don’t think school is going to be open today.”

Allison spots Scott, wheeling his bike towards them, “Classes are cancelled,” he says, as if that wasn’t obvious from the taped off area. There are even news crews showing up to try and catch the latest drama in Beacon Hills. Chemistry Teacher Murdered. It’s probably the most popular Adrian Harris is ever going to get. “The game is still on though tonight. Too much hassle to cancel.”

“They aren’t calling it an animal attack?” Allison asks Scott.

He shrugs, “I asked the Sheriff. He says it looks like an animal attack, but what with it being inside the school, and the fifth death in the past month they just want to be certain.”

“Where’s Stiles?” Lydia asks, sharply, looking around for the familiar blue jeep. Allison can’t see it.

Scott looks lost, and she reaches out a hand, grabbing his for comfort. She smiles weakly. They’re not dating, but she still cares for him, worries about the weight on his shoulders. “I don’t know.” He says, “He’s not answering his phone. I was going to go over to his after school but at this rate I might just go now.”

“You do that,” Lydia nods, “Try and see what he knows. I’m going to go and try and finish looking through all that video footage. Maybe talk Danny into helping me hack some other sites that can track faces. Allison, do you want a lift back?”

“No, it’s okay--“

“What do you mean ‘see what he knows’?” Scott interrupts suddenly, “What makes you think Stiles is going to know anything about this?” he gestures at the school.

Allison feels a rush of pity for Scott as Lydia explains, almost patronisingly. “Stiles is with the alpha now.” She says, “Part of his pack. And now our chemistry teacher is dead, killed by a wild animal. You realise that this means either the alpha killed Harris. Or Stiles did on the alpha's instructions. For all we know he might have killed those guys in the woods too.”

“No,” Scott shakes his head, “Stiles wouldn’t do that!”

“Wouldn’t he?” Lydia asks, “Look around, Scott! We’re standing here, trying to hunt down the killer and where is Stiles? Not here. Face it. We've lost him, Scott. We lost him the moment that monster got him at the school. We have no idea what happened to him in the five days he was gone, but I know this. What we got back _isn’t_ Stiles."

 

"Did you kill Harris?"

It’s the first thing Scott says to Stiles when the front door of the Stilinski household opens. Stiles eyes him standing there on the front porch and then steps back, ushering Scott inside. Scott does so, the door closing behind him. He lets Stiles lead him up the stairs into his bedroom before repeating the question.

“Did you kill Harris?”

"Maybe," Stiles shrugs, hands stuffed in his pockets casually. "What of it?"

Scott feels all his breath leave his lungs, "You can't just kill people!" he protests.

"You can if they deserve it." Stiles shrugs again, "And he deserved what he got."

"Who are you to get to decide that?" Scott hisses, "You don't get that choice, Stiles! Nobody should."

"Well you know what, Scott?" Stiles leans forwards, "I enjoyed it." he says, and Scott's heart stutters. Stiles grins. It’s thin and not a nice smile. "Yeah, I enjoyed it. Funny how these things work out. But watching that man die… I'd do it again. I'd do anything he'd ask me to. That's what having an alpha is about. And Scott…" Stiles reaches out, grabbing onto Scott's arm, "You can help. You can join us, still. I'll talk to him. You might not even have to kill anyone, not if you don't want to. He'll let you keep Allison, and then we can be together and…"

Scott yanks his hand away, "Let me keep Allison?" he repeats, "Listen to yourself!" he stares at Stiles, dark shadows under his friend's eyes, hair long and it hasn't been in a buzzcut for several weeks, Stiles claimed to have been growing it out to make his werewolf shift look cooler, but now it's longer it looks unkempt and wild. Stiles looks unkempt and wild, feral and… "He's made you into some sort of pet," Scott observes, sadly, "A dog who will do whatever he's told."

Stiles curls his lip, "You don't understand," he steps backwards, "You don't know…" he shakes his head, "It's better now," he gestures to his ears, and Scott notices how Stiles hasn't been wearing his headphones, "The sound, the smells, everything. It's better. He did that. You don't want the bite Scott. You never wanted it. But me? I can deal. I can live through a little bit of hardship. Not everything in life is easy and if this… this?" he gestures with his arms at thin air, "If this is what it costs for this sort of power then I'm prepared to pay it."

Scott shakes his head, turning away, "We're losing you, Stiles," he whispers, "I feel like I've already lost you."

"What do you mean? I'm right here!"

Scott backs away, "No, you're not. You're his now. His beta. His pack. I don't… I don't know you anymore."

"You can't pretend it doesn't exist!" Stiles shouts after him, "It's not all just going to go away!!"

But Scott already has one hand on the door handle. "I'll see around, I guess," he says, sadly.

"Yes," Stiles sighs, "You will." and there is a note Scott can't identify in his voice.

Scott turns his back and walks away towards the stairs, seeing himself out and trying not to think about how this is a sign of weakness, turning your back to a predator. Stiles is a predator, with a pack and an alpha and he's been broken in, bruised and has lost the will to fight.

Scott hasn't. Scott is still fighting, and he'll fight for Stiles too if he has to.

He'll get Stiles back, whatever it costs him.


	15. Burnt

Allison has a day off school. Lydia has run off to go about her project of hunting down who the alpha is, and Allison can’t contribute. She’s stuck at school, waiting for the bus to come.

“Need a lift?” Jackson pulls up beside her in his fancy Porsche.

Allison smiles and shakes her head, “I don’t want to make you go out of your way,” she says, a rubbish excuse really and Jackson scoffs.

He shrugs, and then opens the door for her to get in, “I’m not going anywhere. Come on, we’ll go get a milkshake or something.”

Glancing up and down the parking lot, Allison hastens to get in at the sight of other cars queueing behind the Porsche. “People might talk,” she says as she buckles her seat belt, “You’re meant to be dating Lydia.”

“Not anymore.”

Allison blinks, because yes - Lydia had run off to go and look into issues surrounding an alpha werewolf while Jackson was here. The pair had barely spent any time together lately, but Allison hadn’t noticed, “What… what happened there? You guys aren’t dating anymore?”

“In preparation for some changes in my life,” Jackson turns out of the school and onto the main road smoothly, “I decided to drop some dead weight.”

“Lydia is dead weight?” Allison asks, and she’s seconds away from asking Jackson to stop the car. But she happens to glance sideways, seeing his smug face falter and crack for a second. “Jackson?”

He doesn’t answer her for a long moment. Then: “It wasn’t working. Lydia is running around with Scott and Stilinski, who, may now be a murderer, and none of them can understand when I say I want to be one of them.”

“I can’t either,” Allison admits, “But I understand that it’s important to you.”

The car screeches to a halt and someone blows their horn at them. Jackson twists in his seat to look at her, “It’s not just important. This… the bite… whatever it is… it could be everything.” He’s so earnest, so passionate, that Allison would be lying if she said she wasn’t scared, but she just twists in her own seat.

“I want to help people.” She admits, “I hated… that night in the school I was defenceless. I hate that. So let’s have milkshakes another day. Today? We need to find out as much as we can about everything. They say knowledge is power, right?”

“So where are we going?”

“Where else?” Allison smirks, “My house.”

 

Jackson has no idea how he got here, sitting in the Argent basement while Allison rifles through her family belongings. They’ve already uncovered various books on mythology from around the house, as well as hacking into her dad’s computer files about various werewolf cases in California. Now they’re in the basement, helping themselves to wolfsbane bullets. “It’s always good to have a supply,” Allison had said, “It means I don’t have to steal some when Scott or Derek get shot again.”

“What do you mean ‘again’?” Jackson wrinkles his nose. No wonder McCall was so uptight about this, he thought, eyeing the weapons above him.

“Derek got shot by my aunt when she arrived in town.” Allison explains, “With a rare form of wolfsbane and he needed a bullet to fix it. Lydia didn’t really explain that one well to me.”

Jackson runs the back of his neck and then stops. “Wait… wolfsbane… that’s aconite, right? That bastard.” He glares at the wall.

“What?”

“Derek gave me wolfsbane poisoning. I’ve been hallucinating… having nightmares for weeks.”

“Those scratches…” Allison makes a movement towards his neck and Jackson flinches away. “Sorry,” she withdraws her hand. “Do they hurt?”

“No,” Jackson scoffs, lying.

Allison opens her mouth, does an amazing impression of a fish for a moment before talking, “It’s okay for things to hurt, you know?” she offers, gently. “Like when you hurt your shoulder. You didn’t have to play.”

“I have to do a lot of things,” Jackson says carefully, “Like tonight for instance. There’s a lacrosse game. Semi-finals. I have to stand up there and be co-captain with Scott. And you guys and everyone else probably think Scott deserves his position, while in actual fact he got a free ticket. I had to work for the captaincy, and now I’ve lost it.”

“Haven’t you heard? There’s no ‘I’ in team.” Allison leans away from him a little. “And in fact working together is what got Scott the bite in the first place. He followed Stiles into the woods. And now Scott and Lydia and I are going to work everything else out, and then you can get the bite. It’s okay to ask for help. And it’s okay to not have to do everything by yourself.”

She doesn’t understand, Jackson thinks, she can’t. She doesn’t know what it’s like being alone. Having everything be a lie.

Not knowing who you were.

He grits his teeth and flicks through another file, head ducked. He hears her sigh. “I just discovered my family have an illegal career in the hunting of supernatural creatures circa the 1400’s. And that they’ve been training me without even realising it. I don’t know if I’m meant to be a normal teenage girl, worrying about her boyfriend… or if I should pick up my bow and an arrow tip laced with wolfsbane and go out and shoot down the alpha. Because I can do both.”

He looks up, meeting her brown gaze.

“Life isn’t easy. You and I both know we have to work for things.” She shrugs, “And sometimes we have to work together, and you’re just going to have to face that.”

She’s right.

Jackson hates that she’s right.

 

“I told you, I can’t do that!”

“Can’t or won’t?”

Danny rolls his eyes, “I’ve already hacked into the security feed for you and Stiles, I’m not hacking into government databases to run your footage through it for who knows what!”

Lydia sighs. She’s been at this for hours. She’s found nothing more from the night the video store clerk died, so she has started to look through footage from last Friday and the previous night. From the night they were trapped in the school she has found nothing but flashes of a large black fully shifted wolf.

Frustrated she had called in Danny.

“Please,” she asks, hating to resort to begging, “Can’t you just--“

Her window cracks open and Derek  Hale falls through with a bang. Lydia just winces and Danny stands, startled.

“Don’t worry,” Lydia gestures to him to sit down, “He’s a friend.”

“A friend?” Danny stares at Derek nervously. Derek shoves himself off the floor, obviously not aware that Lydia had a guest for all his werewolf senses. “What does Jackson say about guys climbing in through your window?”

“Jackson dumped me,” Lydia shrugs, trying to ignore the pang of hurt because Lydia Martin did not get dumped.

Except when she did.

“I can date who I want. Right, Der, sweetie?”

Derek does that thing when he stares at you in disapproval, and you are left to guess what he’s thinking because he’s not saying anything.

“He’s the tall, dark, handsome and silent type.” Lydia drags Danny back into the chair by his arm, “Now… ahem…”

“Is that blood?”

“Nosebleeds. Derek, change your shirt, will you?”

“Into what?” Derek says slowly.

“There are spare shirts in my wardrobe. Jackson left some over here.”

Derek eyebrow glares at her, and then pulls of his shirt, turning around and looking for the wardrobe. Lydia eyes Danny who is shamelessly watching Derek as he goes about hunting for a shirt.

“Well?” she asks him.

Danny sighs a little as Derek finally covers up with a shirt. “You’re a cruel, capricious person Lydia.”

“I try.” She grins, “Now, if you please?”

“You realise if anything comes up, it could be linked to this crime? And if I don’t say anything, then I become an accessory to murder?”

“Run the program and then leave. You don’t have to see what comes up.”

“Fine.” Danny’s fingers fly across the keys. “There.” He’s done quicker than Lydia would have expected. “Will I be seeing you at the game tonight or are you…” he eyes Derek who is lurking in the corner of the room, “Will you be indisposed?”

“I’ll be busy. Too busy to watch a bunch of hot, sweaty pre-pubescent boys toss a ball to each other with nets.” Lydia drawls, watching the bar creep across the screen marking progress. “Not you, of course.” She glances up at Danny, “You’re perfect, naturally.” She glances at Derek who looks a little lost.

“Naturally.” He grunts eventually after a lot of hand gesturing.

Danny actually looks a little smug at that as he wanders out of her room, thankfully using the door. He’s barely out than Derek has crossed the room and is standing behind her.

“Really?” he is asking, “Pimping me out to your gay best friend?”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

“What if we don’t get anything?” Derek asks in frustration, “Stiles might not have even been there.”

Lydia eyes the progress bar. Derek shifts behind her uneasily.

“Are you going to do that the entire time?” she snipes, “Because otherwise go and stalk Stiles. Someone should have been keeping an eye on him in the first place; he might have led us to the alpha. He still might.”

“That…” Derek eyes her window as if the idea appeals to him. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to wait around for a computer program.

It’s not just a computer program though. It’s facial recognition, to see if Stiles was caught on any of the cameras the night Harris was killed. Lydia can’t track the alpha, not without knowing what he looks like. He could shift between cameras and become any other random stranger on the dark street.

But Stiles? Stiles they can track. Stiles can lead them to the alpha.

“Is it done?”

Lydia turns to look back at the screen. The box is flashing and she clicks, revealing several shots of footage. She plays through one, but it’s too early in the day. School is out and Stiles is leaving, heading across the car park to his jeep. There is another of him near the police station with his dad, talking.

Then…

“Stop it.” Derek gestures sharply and Lydia stops the footage. It’s timed at night, and it’s dark. Stiles’ face is illuminated by street lights as he climbs out of a dark Mercedes that looks to be parked at a street near the school. There is someone in the driver’s seat, but Lydia can’t see who.

“Play it a bit.” Derek instructs and Lydia does so. Stiles stands, looking around and turns, his eyes flaring under the street light. He looks over the car, in a mockery of how Allison and Lydia had been talking that morning, as someone climbs out of the driver’s seat.

Lydia clicks for the video to stop; just as the other man - the alpha - turns. It’s not the best shot - he’s further away from the camera and so it’s fuzzy and blurred, but she cans see it’s a guy. Older than Derek, but not as old as her mother. She begins clicking to zoom in when she hears Derek gasp.

“Who is it?” she asks, looking from Derek and then back to the picture. There’s something wrong, she thinks, looking at the man’s face. It take her a moment longer to place it, to realise that it’s not a camera blur that makes the one side of his face appear distorted.

They’re burns.

She’s never seen a picture, but there can only be one man with burns covering half his face walking around town as if nothing ever happened.

Peter Hale.

 

The previous lacrosse game had been spent with headphones on, wincing at every whistle blow and every cheer. In comparison this is quiet, and Stiles’ attention flits from sound to sound at his own will, listening in on Coach giving them a pep talk to the sound of Scott’s heartbeat as he gets changed.

It’s reassuring, strong and still alive. Not shot full of wolfsbane, and not burnt into cinders. Alive.

Stiles doesn’t bother changing. Why should he? He’s not playing. Apparently he was meant to be playing but he missed that opportunity as well when Peter kidnapped him for a long weekend hunting and killing people.

He stops off next to Isaac to check number 14 is doing okay, and then continues out of the changing rooms and towards the stands. He can hear Kate and Chris quietly talking and he’s aware that as soon as he made an appearance the pair both notice.

He reaches out, grabbing someone by the wrist sharply. Allison freezes, spotting him and drawing back slightly, but Stiles just steps forwards, to avoid getting in the way of some other parents wandering past.

“Sorry,” he grins weakly, “Can I talk to you quickly?”

“Now’s not really the best time.” Allison fakes a smile, “I was heading off to see Scott before the game and…”

“And I’ll be quick,” Stiles promises, aware that in the stands Kate and Chris are staring at them.

In his grip he holds the Argent daughter’s wrist, firmly but not painfully. He doesn’t let go, as he searches for words. "I just was wondering… actually, you know what, it's stupid…" he drops her wrist then, stepping away.

Her expression softens, "What's wrong?" she steps after him, and Stiles had been counting on that. Allison was compassionate. It was the reason she and Scott fit so well together.

"Well Scott might have mentioned… that I've had this crush on Lydia," Allison relaxes as he keeps talking, "Since like third freaking grade and I just… you're friends with her, aren't you? Can you… maybe ask her if she likes me? Whether I should give up now or keep hoping…?"

Allison studies him, "I'll ask," she says, with a soft smile, "But Stiles… be careful. I don't know why you won't tell us who the alpha is but if you're scared or think you can't trust us…" she shakes her head, "This is coming out wrong just… just know we're there for you, okay?"

“I thought you were going to warn me about killing people.”

Allison grins thinly, “I’m the last person who can do that,” she whispers, eyes darting to where her aunt and dad sit. Stiles frowns, trying to work out what she meant when she slips away, no doubt looking for Scott. Letting the hesitance fade from his movements, Stiles turns, gaze sweeping the stands until he can see Argent pair.

He smirks, letting his eyes flash blue. He's knows they're watching. They know that he knows and they know that Allison is within his reach. He can hear them talking, hear them arguing and whispering

"That was a threat, Chris, he was threatening Allison…"

"He didn't do anything. We can't just kill him…"

"You saw his eyes…"

"He's the Sheriff's kid, Kate, and he's sixteen."

"You're growing soft…"

"He can lead us to where the alpha is!"

Stiles slips away, a quiet smirk resting on his face. Threat received.

 

“Are you okay?” Allison practically crashes into Scott in the changing rooms and he reaches out to steady her, “Your heart is pounding.”

"Stiles scares me," Allison admits, biting her lip and glancing over his shoulder.

“Did he do anything…?”

“No…” she shakes her head. “He just… it’s nothing.”

He is chewing on his fingernails, staring at her. "Why?" he asks, "It's… it's _Stiles_."

"I know," she sighs, "And he's cute and a hyperactive spaz and I thought he was fine, y'know. I mean… a bit creepy, but fine. But Scott… now the Alpha's wormed his way into his head I think he's gone. I think we've lost him."

Scott shakes his head, "No," he says, "No, we haven't. I can save him. I _will_ save him."

"You can save him from the alpha," Allison crouches down, taking one hand, "But can you save him from himself?"

Scott stares at her. Her hand is warm as it wraps around his.

"Stiles is close to only three people, Scott. Maybe even only two. His dad, your mom and you. That's… that's not normal, Scott. It's not right."

Scott closes his eyes, "He's Stiles," he whispers, "He'll be fine; he'll be back to normal…"

“Scott,” she says calmly, “To teach you control, Stiles got you beaten up. It was petty. It was revenge for ignoring you. He stood there and watched and enjoyed it.” Scott is shaking his head, denying this. Stiles is his friend, he only does what is best, he has a reason…

But it's the truth. It is the cold hard truth. Stiles is logical and pragmatic. He needs to do something; he has an aim so he’ll take whatever route needed to get there. Most of the time he’s flailing limbs and sarcasm, but the times when he isn’t…

Allison reaches out with her other hand, cradling his and rubbing the thumb over the back of his hand. It’s gentle and soothing and even though she’s telling the truth, and even though Scott hates her for pointing it out, he relaxes with her presence. That's when he hears the breathing change, and his eyes fly open. Allison is anchoring him down, and he lets himself listen to her heartbeat.

"What is it?" he asks.

"I think…" Allison's breath hitches, "Jackson and I looked through some books. Some journals. For my family. Did you know that if a hunter is bitten they have to take their own life?"

Scott sits a little straighter, "But then…" he shakes his head in denial.

Allison nods, "Yes. There isn't a cure, Scott. Not for this. There isn't anything that's going to make you human again."

Scott’s heart plummets, and he’s stuck like this. He’s a werewolf, now and forever.

He and Stiles will always be werewolves, and there is nothing he can do to save them.


	16. Battlelines

“Where have you been?” Jackson grumbles as Scott takes a seat next to him on the bench, “The game’s about to start.”

“We’ve plenty of time,” Scott leans closer, “Listen… about the bite… you can’t change your mind. Once you’re bitten, you’re a werewolf forever.”

“I know that, dumbass.”

“There’s no cure.”

“So Allison and I discovered. But I won’t want one.”

“And the hunters?”

“What about them?”

“They have assault rifles!”

“I saw,” Jackson spins around to Scott, “Okay? Allison showed me her father’s whole damn armoury and that’s not even counting what auntie Kate must have!”

“Can you get turned by a scratch?” Kate’s words suddenly echo in Scott’s ears and he tilts his head, listening.

“If the claws go deep enough. Maybe”

Next to him Jackson is rubbing his neck and Scott stares.

“Wonder how deep those went.” And Scott just knows Kate is gesturing at Jackson. “What if there are more? There’s an alpha. What if he has more than one beta?”

“You mean beyond the Sheriff’s kid? Who we can’t touch, you know that.”

“Because we have no proof. Yeah.” Kate scoffs and rolls her eyes, leaning away. Scott glances at Jackson, because everything just keeps getting worse.

“Now, this is what I like to see,” Coach Finstock appears from somewhere, grinning like a maniac. “Rivals turned allies. You know there's no "me" in "team," right, boys?”

Scott frowns, but it is Jackson who surprisingly answers, “Yes, there is, coach.”

“Okay, smartass, how 'bout this - No "A" in econ if no win on field? Good? Huh? Perfect. Good. Now let's go. Huddle up! Let's go! Big night! Big night! Ready? Say it so they can hear it! Hands in. What are we?”

Scott and Jackson stand and join the team, glancing at each other and then putting everything aside. Scott sighs. The world and its problems can wait an hour.

“We are lacrosse!”

He has a lacrosse game to play.

“All right, take the field! Let's go!”

 

Stiles watches the game from the shadows. He feels a pang of regret because he could have been playing but things just don’t turn out that way for him. They never do.

Chris and Kate Argent are sitting in the stands, and they know who he is now. He feels a rush of adrenaline rush through him, because that’s just stage one. It’s risky, it’s dangerous, but it’s Peter’s plan and Stiles will follow it.

Peter’s a psychopath, he reminds himself, and his long term planning is shot, but Stiles will still follow his commands, if only because Peter is his alpha and that means something, right? It means pack and security and making sure Peter gets his revenge. Stiles remembers burning and even though they aren’t his memories, he longs to rip into flesh.

His claws curl into his palms and he evens his breathing. On the field a whistle blows, and his ears ring but it’s bearable. He can hear everything going on but he’s not drowning in it. Instead he carefully filters it all out, taking note of what is important, and ignoring the rest.

There is a scent in the air and Stiles angles his head, gaze searching the crowd until he spots who he’s looking for, slinking along unseen. The other wolf is avoiding the hunters, and so Stiles turns around, heading to the locker room to meet him.

With a final whistle the game ends. Stiles is caught up in the rush of students, but it doesn’t worry him. Not the scents or the sounds surrounding him. In the rush Derek is there suddenly, looming over one shoulder.

For a moment the lacrosse crowd mingle around them, and Stiles is aware of Allison whispering to Scott quietly about the game and her cheering. He steps away, avoiding being seen by the pair and tilts his head to one side, listening to Derek’s slow steady heartbeat.

 “Are you aware that you’re just standing there thinking?” he glances lazily over his shoulder at where Derek lurks, glowering at him. His tone is bored as he slowly turns to face the other beta, “I mean, maybe you’re meaning to communicate something, but I’m not a mind-reader, so you’re going to have to use actual words.”

He watches Derek for a moment with mocking judgement, waiting for a reply.

He gets one. Abrupt, sharp and the other wolf steps forwards to enunciate his words.

“Where’s Peter.”

"Try adding a question mark at the end of the sentence," Stiles drawls, amused by the anger bubbling up in the beta.

"Where is he."

"You know," a voice purrs, "You used to actually talk in full sentences. But then I guess a lot changes when you haven't see someone for six years."

Stiles lets his gaze drift over Derek’s shoulder, observing his alpha leaning against the wall of the locker room. He’s grinning slightly, as Derek spins around with a snarl, lashing out.

Peter catches the hand with little effort, holding it there. “Really, Derek?” he sneers, curling his hand around Derek’s fist until Stiles can hear the bones creak. Then his other hand snatches forwards, grabbing Derek by the shirt and throwing him to one side.

Derek flies through the air, and lands, still sliding on the floor.

Peter examines his nails casually, “I think I might have overdone it,” he hums, before turning and heading towards Derek. “Come, Stiles.”

Stiles falls into place behind Peter. It feels wrong and he hates that.

But it feels right as well, so he no longer knows what to feel.

Sometimes it is just easier to feel nothing at all.

 

Danny leaves the changing rooms and Scott pauses, because for the first time he’s suddenly aware that he’s not alone in here.

He wishes half-heartedly that he had Stiles’ senses, but if he had Stiles’ senses he too might be making dubious deals with killer alpha werewolves to control them, so it’s a stupid thought.

He stands, turning and about to investigate when with a crash Derek flies through the air, skidding along the ground and landing near his feet.

“Derek?” Scott blinks down.

The other beta looks up at him, groaning, “It’s him.” He tries to push himself up, “He’s the alpha… my uncle…”

And Scott follows Derek’s gaze up to where a man is stalking forwards, looking well and alive and… "Back in my day they used to play basketball," his voice is smooth, and it sends shivers down Scott’s spine.

The last time Scott saw the man was in Beacon Hills Long Term Care Unit.

“You.”

Then he sees is Stiles, standing in the shadows to the right of the man.

To the alpha.

Peter Hale.

"Me," Peter smirks. Scott’s stomach sinks.

Derek snarls angrily, and shoves himself up and towards the alpha. Peter doesn’t move, but from behind him Stiles steps forwards, claws out and intercepting Derek’s leap. His movements are fluid, co-ordinated and so unlike Stiles it is making Scott feel sick, seeing the predator there. He slams Derek away with ease, following up the movement by punching Derek in the face.

The older beta slams into the locker, looking dazed. He growls but Stiles has already moved, twisting one arm behind his back in a mockery of how his dad would arrest criminals, pinning Derek there. Derek looks about to struggle when Stiles’ claws come to rest at the back of Derek’s neck.

The older wolf stills.

“You were in a coma,” Scott glances at Peter, who is watching Stiles pin Derek down with a glint in his eyes.

“I _was_ in a coma.” Peter shrugs. “My nurse saw me shift on the full moon and let me out.”

“What happened to your nurse?” Scott asks, but he already knows the answer.

“She’s dead,” Peter shrugs, “But she was also a psychotic bitch who wanted to be a werewolf.” Peter looks unbothered, “It was no loss.”

“And the others?” Scott chokes out, stepping backwards, “What about the others?”

“What about Laura?” Derek chokes out from where he is still face first in the locker.

Peter makes a gesture to Stiles who steps back, letting go of Derek. He slides to the ground with a gasp for air, and trying to scramble upright. “Well?” he glares.

“Do you think I killed Laura on purpose? One of my own family? My mind, my personality were literally burned out of me. I was being driven by pure instinct.”

“Do you think that makes it better?” Scott asks, confused, “What about the others? What about the bus driver and… and our chemistry teacher?”

“You can’t say he was a great loss,” Stiles scoffs quietly, but his eyes are down. He’s not challenging Peter. There is no witty banter, no sarcasm and it’s so wrong…

“Do you have any idea…?” Peter asks Scott and Derek, “What is it like for a werewolf to be in a coma? Slowly healing cell by cell? Constantly aware of everything, but trapped inside your own mind, gradually coming back to consciousness? Listening to your own thoughts over and over driving you insane? Yes, becoming an Alpha, taking that from Laura pushed me over a plateau in the healing process. I can't help that. I tried to tell you what was happening. I tried to warn you.” he spreads out his hands, “Can’t you understand that?”

Scott is still stepping backwards. Away from Peter. Away from Stiles. Away from where Derek still kneels on the floor, looking beaten.

“I’m not helping you kill people.”

“Well, I don't want to kill all of them. Just the responsible ones. And that doesn't have to include your little girlfriend. Stiles assures me she’ll make a great werewolf if she wants to join the pack, and if she doesn’t want to, she can still make a great hunter, provided she aims at the right monster.”

“Like you?” Derek finally recovers enough to stand, leaning heavily on the locker and looking like he wants to lash out at Peter again, but Stiles is standing in the way. “You _killed_ _Laura_.”

“You _dated_ _Kate_.” Peter parrots back to him with the same emphasis but on different words. Scott doesn’t understand it. He can’t work it out but…

Derek pales. He shuts up at that.

Peter sighs, “Yes, I know. The reality of the situation, Derek, is that you started this - and I'm going to end it." He looks towards Scott, “Last chance, Scott. I’m prepared to do this like responsible adults, but if you don’t agree well…” he sighs, looking regretful, and his eyes flash a blood red. He begins talking, and as he does the burnt side of his face begins to twist. “I will do whatever I can in my power…” his face is healing, moulding back together, “To finish what I started.” The red dies from his eyes, but his face is normal. Human. Not burnt. “I think I might have given you the wrong impression. We just want to help you reach your full potential.”

He glances at Stiles, who remains silent, head ducked and not meeting anyone’s eyes. “I can help with control. Even on the full moon. We’re stronger as a pack. More powerful.”

“I don’t want power. I don’t want to kill my friends. I don’t want to kill anybody.”

“Sometimes the people closest to you - can be the ones holding you back the most.”

“If they're holding me back from becoming a psychotic nut job like you, I'm okay with that.”

Peter sighs, “I’ll give you some time to think over my offer Scott. Derek. I’ll be around, anytime you change your mind.”

He spins around, stalking away. Stiles stays, waiting for the echoing footsteps of Peter to fade before he finally - finally - looks up and meets Scott’s gaze. “It’s not that bad.” He whispers, but with werewolf hearing Scott can hear him perfectly, “Scott - it’s not just about killing. It’s… everything is different with a pack. Easier. Better. You’re never alone.”

“I can’t,” Scott shakes his head, “If it means killing people then I don’t want to be in his pack. I’ve already got one of my own.”

Stiles flinches again, “Fine.” He says, “I’m doing this for you, you know? I’m not just killing people for the sake of killing. I’m doing this to protect you and my dad and even Allison and Lydia. I don’t regret killing those people. I did what I had to, and if that means we’re not on the same side in this…” his gaze is bitter and he steps backwards. “So be it.” He turns, stalking after Peter.

After his alpha.

He doesn’t look back.

 

Derek lets Peter and Stiles leave without saying anything. There is nothing to say. No words that he can find.

Just the guilt.

“Are you going to join them?” Scott asks him, voice bitter as he stares in the direction the other two had vanished.

“I don’t know.” Derek whispers. Peter had brought out the full argument for Scott. The full pitch, while Derek wasn’t even worth that. Derek got a guilt trip and angry accusations that weren’t even spoken, but he knows they were there. Scott is looking at him now with a mix of apprehension and bewilderment.

Peter killed Laura.

Peter was half out of his mind.

But he killed Laura…

“I can’t,” he says, voice ragged and broken, “He doesn’t need me. He has Stiles.”

“Not if I can help it,” Scott’s voice is determined and bitter. “I’ll get him back. You’ll see.”

Derek just laughs. “What can we do?” he asks, “Peter’s an alpha. Stiles being in his pack makes them both stronger. I can’t stand up to that.”

“Alone, no.” Scott shakes his head, “But together…”

It’s just something to think about. Just something to change their game plan. Derek thinks it might be just enough so that they can win this.

“Tell me the truth,” Scott’s voice drops, “If I kill Peter what happens? It’s not going to cure me so don’t even… don’t even try to lie…”

Derek doesn’t question how Scott knows it’s a lie. He just searches for words to explain. “If you kill Peter… the alpha power passes from him to you. It makes you stronger. It also makes you in need of a pack. You’ll have an urge to bite. Your family and friends, people who are already your pack. Then strangers until you’re stable. It’s why Peter bit you and Stiles.”

Scott looks suitably horrified, “I don’t… I don’t want that. I can’t be that.”

“I can.” Derek decides, looking up, “If you’re still with me, my promise still stands. You help me kill him, I’ll help you with control.”

It’s a good as deal as any, and the pair of them, standing there in the locker room in the near dark have very few options left to them.


	17. Pack

The weekend dawns cold but sunny. Leaves crackle under Allison’s feet as she moves forwards, listening to the trees rustling in the breeze. Behind her Lydia slows to a stop, rubbing at her arms as she blows out her breath, watching it mist in the air in front of her.

“There better be a good reason for why we’re out here,” Lydia complains, shivering dramatically for effect. “Especially considering the mini arsenal you’re carrying.”

“Because werewolves…”

“Especially because werewolves.” Lydia makes a flustered hand gesture, “I’m not complaining about the mini arsenal, because if you see a werewolf - shoot it.”

Allison tilts her head to one side, spinning back to Lydia, “Even if it’s Scott?” she squints at her friend, then answers her own question, “Maybe not the best plan.”

“Shoot Derek,” Lydia shrugs, “Shoot anyone. If they’re wolves they’ll heal.” A grin fights its way onto her face, “So tell me - why are we here?”

“Well,” Allison drops the bow case on the ground, opening it. Her recurve bow is set up and ready in there, and all she has to do is unzip the case and pick it up, pulling on her glove as she does so. She holds her bow in one hand and pulls out something. She holds it up to the light. It’s a dull silver, and it fits neatly into the tip of one of her special arrows.

She never knew why she had them before, but now she does.

“The other night,” she tells Lydia, “I was in the garage and my dad and aunt came back. They were talking about this thing and about how it might draw attention to them. Also about how they should be teaching me this stuff, but then they wandered off. They left this though. And this…” she holds up another, a used one that has the metal broken and burnt.

“What does it do?”

“Well… we’re about to find out.”

She finishes setting up the arrow and she knocks it in place. Taking a deep breath she raises the bow, pulling back on the string. Her fingers grip the bow string, arms drawing back until the point of the arrow sits in line with a nearby tree.

She lets it fly.

There is a high pitched whine and then a flash. Behind her Lydia flinches as the arrow slams into the tree and the device on the end explodes.

“Well that was fun,” Lydia says, “So are there any more lethal weapons you want to test?”

“What do you think it’s used for?” Allison asks.

Lydia shoots her a look, “Really? Something like that, probably for blinding werewolves. The flash of light as well as the noise would probably have Scott writhing on the ground and Stiles curled up in a little ball.” She pauses, “That is to say don’t use it on Scott or Stiles.”

Allison can’t imagine using it on either of them. They’re her friends. Even Stiles, as morally dubious as his current actions are and as creepy as the guy gets, she is still worried for him.

“So,” Lydia rubs her hands together, “Are we done with our five mile hike? Because I really want to check out the shops for some ideas for Formal dresses. If we don’t find anything here we’re going to have to visit Macy’s later in the week.”

“Do you even have a date?” Allison rubs at a spot of dirt on a limb of her bow.

“Not yet. But I’ve got a plan.”

“Jackson asked me,” Allison admits, “As friends. I haven’t said anything yet. I wanted to check with you.”

Lydia’s face freezes for a moment before softening, “That’s fine. Thanks for asking. Most girls just wouldn’t, you know?”

Allison laughs, “Well it’s not as if you’re planning on going after Scott, so I think I’m safe.”

Lydia grins, “You never know!” she teases, waggling a finger, “Now can we get out of…” she sighs, as Allison spins around again to examine the forest, “What is it now?”

“I thought I heard something. Here… hold this.” Allison drops her bow in Lydia’s hands.

“What? No! So what if you heard something?”

“I want to find out what it is.”

Lydia looks like she hates Allison’s curiosity. Allison hates it too - it’s how she found out about werewolves and her family history after all. “Well, what if that nothing is something and that something is something dangerous?”

Allison has no idea what her best friend just said. “Shoot it.” She suggests, turning around.

“Uh no.” Lydia decides, stepping after her, “Better idea - you take the lethal weapon. I come with you so as not to be left behind.” She drops the bow back in Allison’s grasp and stalks past several paces. She stops, glancing over her shoulder, “Uh… where are we going?”

Allison rolls her eyes, cutting up sideways over an embankment. “It was around here.” She ducks under some low hanging branches, “Whose house is that?” she asks, spotting it through the trees.

Lydia steps past her again, “That’s the old Hale House, I think. Derek’s place. God - it’s just as gloomy as he is.”

Allison hears the noise again, a creak and the sound of something metallic. “It’s coming from the house,” she whispers, moving slowly towards the place, “Does he still live here?”

Lydia pulls a face, “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Allison turns back to the gloomy shell of a building. The paint is peeling and the rest of the frame is entirely blackened wood. It smells of smoke and stale air, and the first step of the porch creaks under her weight. She half expects the wood to collapse under her.

The door was once a beautiful red colour, but it’s now a dirty brown. It hangs off its hinges and Allison reaches out to it.

“Really?” Lydia hisses, “Allison!”

“I’m just going to have a look.” Allison shoves the door gently. It creaks as it slowly drifts open, and Allison is about to shove it wide open when the door is yanked wide, a dark shape standing there. Allison startles, stepping backwards and tripping down the stairs. She manages to manoeuvre her bow so she doesn’t snap it, but she lands heavily, Lydia almost immediately behind her.

There is a scream and a laugh and Allison looks up. Lydia has her hands over her mouth, startled into screaming and in the doorway her aunt leans, looking relieved. She’s the one laughing, holding one hand over her heart.

“You kids scared me,” she sighs.

“Scared?” Lydia snaps, “What the hell are you doing sneaking about creepy burnt out houses?”

“Lydia…” Allison pushes herself up, embarrassed, “This is my aunt - Kate.”

Lydia’s jaw closes with a ‘click’. “Question still stands - what is she doing?”

Allison opens her mouth, “That’s a good question… what… you scared the life out of me.”

Kate shrugs, “I used to know the Hales. I used to live in the area.” She leans on the doorframe, finger nail tracing the burnt wood. “It’s pretty depressing. Can you imagine if your father and I were trapped in something like this? It might do some pretty interesting things to your head, don't you think?”

Allison feels faint. Peter’s killing because he was trapped in here. He was trapped in here while his family burnt to death. She can almost understand his need for revenge. Almost.

She is still nowhere near understanding why the woman standing in front of her - her aunt, her loved and trusted aunt - could be the one to light the match.

“Why the bow, kiddo?” Kate eyes the recurve Allison is holding. “Doing some shooting? Find any deer? Or something with a little more fang?”

“Trying to get some practise in,” Allison shrugs, “I’m thinking of starting it up again. Why?”

Kate looks far too gleeful, “I may be able to help you with that,” she says, stepping lightly off the porch. “What about you, Lydia? Interested in shooting?”

The red head smiles, “Me? No. I prefer more academic pursuits.”

Allison hates the way Kate eyes her friend up and down before scornfully turning back to Allison, as if she has taken her best friend at face value and not even tried to see the intelligent girl behind the mask. “You recovered from the incident at the school the other night?”

Lydia replies, drawing attention back to her, “Yeah but it… it was really scary. We still don’t know anything and that almost makes it worse.”

“And you… Allison? You haven’t spoken much to your dad about it…”

“Because he worries,” Allison rolls her eyes, “I don’t need him to worry. What I need is to… is to be able to do something. So that next time that happens I can stop it. Next time I can be stronger and can do something…”

Kate’s smiling again, “I’ll see what I can do, kiddo.” She glances curiously at Lydia, “You two kids look out,” she warns them, “There’s more than deer in these woods.” She begins to move away, assumedly towards where her car is parked.

But Lydia can’t let it go, “You mean like mountain lions?” she calls, “Awful lot of animal attacks lately.”

Kate doesn’t turn, “Exactly,” she muses, “Animal attacks.”

 

Scott feels like he’s got to protect everybody. Allison and Lydia are together, and his mother is at work, so they’re all okay. So for some reason he’s stalking Jackson and it’s just as well when the Porsche stops in the middle of the car park and Chris Argent is the one to pull up to offer a helping hand.

“Is everything okay?” he pulls up in his mom’s car. “Jackson, dude, what happened to your car? You need a lift to the shop down the street?”

He’s not sure how to make it any more obvious.

“Come on,” he hedges his bets, “You’re way too pretty to be left out here alone.” He winces almost as soon as the words are out of his mouth. It’s such a Stiles thing to say and it makes him miss his friend even more. But he hasn’t seen Stiles, and the few times he has neither of them have said anything.

It feels horrible, but all Scott can do is persist.

“Okay,” Jackson nods in relief, stepping towards the car, “Thanks Scott…”

“Hey boys!” Chris calls, “I think I’ve found the problem.” He stalks over to the driver’s door and turns the key. The engine revs. The hunter’s grin is false as he leans back, “Told you I was good with cars.”

“Yeah,” Jackson looks baffled, while Scott just wonders how the hell Chris managed that.

“Wow,” Scott pretends to sound impressed, “Thanks Mr Argent.”

“No problem, Scott. Oh…” Chris stops several steps towards his car. “Scott… do you know where I might find your friend? The Sheriff’s son?”

Scott doesn’t look at Chris for a long moment, “Stiles?” he glances up with a frown, “You want to see Stiles?”

“If I can. I think he and I might benefit from a short conversation together.”

“That’s not really the best idea,” Scott says cautiously, because Stiles is more likely to rip Chris Argent apart than have a civil conversation. Behind him Jackson stiffens.

Chris smiles, but it’s dangerous, and his hand is still low near his waist. Near his gun. “And why is that?”

“Because...” Scott shrugs, “His dad’s the Sheriff.” Feeling a rush of confidence he looks up and meet Chris’ pale gaze, “Something happens to his son you’ve got the police on your back.” He steps back again, “Not something I imagine you’d want.”

The hunter’s eyes narrow imperceptibly, because yes, Scott is threatening him. Scott wonders if this is what Stiles feels now, the power to manipulate people, to hold the strings and watch the chess board moving.

Scott wonders if Stiles has realised yet that he’s nothing more than a pawn in Peter’s game. Scott can see that and he doesn’t even play chess.

“That would be an unfortunate misunderstanding.” Chris says voice thin with held back emotions. “But I can assure you have only Stiles’ best interests at heart.”

Scott nods, “Naturally. Well, if you find him, I’d be interested in knowing.”

“You haven’t seen him?” Chris’ voice is sharp.

“Me and Stiles haven’t been on speaking terms lately.”

Let Chris try and figure out what that means.

 

“What was he doing?” Scott turns on Jackson as soon as Chris leaves.

“Looking at the scratches on my neck. He wanted to know what clawed me up.”

“Did you say anything?”

“Of course not!”

Scott spins around, fists clenched. “Dammit!” he curses, “He thinks you’re me!”

“What?”

“He knows about Stiles. He knows about Derek. He knows there’s an alpha and they think there is another one. Now he thinks it’s you! That you’re a werewolf! You see - this is why it’s dangerous! This is why the bite… isn’t a gift! It’s a curse!”

“For you, maybe. For me? Look, if I get killed, that’s on your head. Not mine.”

“You’ll be dead.”

“Not if you get me what I want!”

“I can’t do that! I’m not working with Peter!”

“Then I’ll talk to Stilinski. He at least may understand. Oh…” Jackson mocks, watching as Scott’s face falls, twisting into something akin to grief, “Are you two not speaking? Why? Is he a better werewolf than you? Or does he get it? That the bite… it’s power. It’s the ability to run faster than humanely possible. To hear anything you want. To have the ability to protect yourself.”

“It’s not like that,” Scott shakes his head, “Not for me and certainly not for Stiles. It will do nothing more than ruin your life.”

“It ruined your life because you don’t know what to do with power. It’s like… it’s like if you turn sixteen and someone bought you a Porsche when they should have started you out with a nice little Honda. Me? I drive a Porsche.”

 

“Hey,” Stiles stops in the doorway of his house, watching his dad work. They’ve barely spoken lately, and he can’t help but think his dad knows. His dad knows that he’s spending his free time hanging out with a psychotic werewolf who is admittedly less insane that when he kidnapped Stiles from the high school and even less insane than when he bit Stiles and Scott to join his pack. “Whatcha’ doing?” he tries to appear interested in his dad’s work, as if he doesn’t already know for certain how three of those people met those bloody deaths and can guess accurately at the remaining lot.

“Chasing up these animal attacks that aren’t animal attacks,” the Sheriff drops the papers he was looking through, rubbing his forehead, “Can you get me an ounce of whiskey?” he asks.

“Okie dokie,” Stiles fetches a glass and pours a centimetre in. His dad is examining the pictures of the bodies, and Stiles looks away when he recognises one of the hunters - Reddick - and sees his own claw marks in the guy’s neck. He feels guilty suddenly, and it’s weird, because he’s not guilty he killed them. They deserved it. They were arsonists, they had condemned a family to be burnt alive. Stiles doesn’t care about them, he cares that their deaths are giving his dad headaches and restless nights.

He pours in a little more whiskey than he should and pushes it over to his dad. “Here.”

“Thanks.” His father doesn’t even look as he drinks it down. “Woah, that packed a punch.” He smacks his lips, putting the glass down, “It would help if we had a suspect.” He admits to Stiles, pulling out a picture from another file, “We can only drag Derek in so many times to ask about his sister. And to top that off we can’t even get a decent picture of him.” He throws the photo down on the desk.

Stiles picks it up, “What’s up with his eyes?”

The Sheriff shrugs, “No idea. Every time we snap a shot it’s like two lasers from his eyes. Lens flare or something, but we haven’t got a clear picture yet.”

“But you don’t suspect Derek, right?”

“No proof,” his dad sighs, “But Derek is the only suspect we have. It’s a short list.”

“Why Derek? I mean… his sister was the first dead.”

“Because… and if you repeat any of this…”

Stiles spreads out his hands, “Dad, I’m not going to tell anyone.”

The Sheriff narrows his eyes, “Not even Scott…”

“Scott and I aren’t speaking,” Stiles chews on his lips. It’s a testament to how drunk his dad is that he barely notices Stiles’ nerves, his anxiety. This is why Stiles has been avoiding his father lately.

“Why aren’t you speaking?”

“We had a disagreement.” Stiles shrugs it off, “Why is Derek on your suspect list?”

“Because all the deaths are connected,” his dad picks up the whiskey glass, examines it suspiciously as if he suspects Stiles of putting in more than he should. Or maybe he is just blaming the whiskey for his loose tongue. “They’re all connected to the Hale house fire,” he admits, “The bus driver used to be an insurance investigator. He was assigned to the fire, but shortly after got his position terminated under suspicion of fraud.”

Stiles frowns, “And the video clerk?”

“The one who got his throat slashes? He’s a convicted felon. History of… guess what?”

“Arson.” Stiles breaths. “And the two guys in the wood…”

“Also arson. Might have had nothing to do with it. Might be linked. It’s hard to tell.”

“But you always say…” Stiles frowns, “If once is chance, twice is co-incidence and three times is a pattern then what… what else do you need?”

His dad waves his hand at the table. “All this? These are all the little guys.” He tugs at a folder, “We need the planner. The one who put it together.”

“What is this?” Stiles lifts a piece of paper up, only to have his dad slam it down again.

“Not for your eyes,” he sighs, “It’s a transcript of an interview I had with Adrian Harris.”

Stiles frowns, stomach rolling lightly, “Our chemistry teacher? You spoke to him before his death?”

The Sheriff nods, “He had some interesting things to say about a necklace.” He hums. Stiles imagines that Harris had a lot of interesting things to say, not just about a necklace but about the Hale fire and a pretty blonde woman. He cranes his neck, reading a few lines.

_“Like I said, I talked. It was fascinating stuff. How you could melt away the lock of a bank vault. How you could dissolve a body, and get away with murder.”_

_“How you could start a fire, and get away with arson?”_

_“And a week later, the Hale house burns down.”_

His dad snatches the paper away. “Stiles - you know you’re not meant to see that.”

“Well if you bring your work home and plaster it up…” Stiles gestures at the wall of his dad’s study, “Then it’s highly likely that I will inevitably see it.” He makes a point of staring at the wall containing details of the different murders.

“Stiles,” the Sheriff sighs. “I miss talking to you,” he murmurs, “It’s like we never have time.”

Stiles isn’t really listening, because he’s slipped a piece of paper off the desk, and this? - this is what he’s looking for. It’s similar to what Peter had picked up from Laura. It’s the same drawing, same design - a large wolf with a sun in the sky.

It’s the necklace. _The_ necklace.

Stiles’ breath catches, because that? That’s proof. If they have the necklace and they somehow get Allison to give the necklace back to her aunt then its proof. It’s enough evidence to get Kate in jail, locked up.

Scott would be safe.

“I do - I miss you. And I miss your mom.”

Stiles’ thought slow to a stop and he looks up at where his dad is reaching for the whiskey bottle. He stops him, lowering it slowly back to the table. “I’m sorry,” Stiles says.

“For what?”

For helping somebody kill people. For turning myself into something you’d hate to protect you and Scott.

Stiles doesn’t have words so he just shakes his head.

“Oh, Stiles.” His dad sighs, “What’s up with you?” he reaches out but Stiles flinches away.

“I’m fine,” he says, mechanically, “Wound up because of things with Scott.” He lies. He’d do anything to get rid of that look of concern in his dad’s eyes.

It will be over soon, he reassures himself.

Sooner even if he can help it, he thinks, sliding a copy of the transcript off the table.


	18. Predator

Stiles keeps his head down at school. Head down, eyes down and he just keeps walking, not looking out for anybody. He’s not yet spoken to Peter, and he’s still debating telling the others that there might be a way they can stop the killing.

Because what if he can’t? What if at the end of it Peter decides he wants them all dead anyway?

In which case there is nothing Stiles can do. He has to admit that Kate Argent has it coming, but the others might not agree.

He mentally snorts. Of course they won’t agree. He’s already gotten chewed out for killing Harris. And it’s not as if they really miss him hanging around with them. It’s in the morals of things, the idea that killing is wrong.

But killing for your pack? Stiles can’t see how that’s wrong.

Stiles isn’t looking where he’s going. His head is looking at the ground and he’s trying to avoid people’s glances. _That’s the kid who got kidnapped_ , they whisper. He can hear them. _That’s the kid who spent almost two days in the trunk of a car._

That’s the kid who walked away from a weekend with a murderer and came out of it untouched with nothing different except for the colour of his eyes.

It’s not his best plan, keeping his head down. He can’t see directly in front of him and it’s an accident waiting to happen. It’s not long before he walks into someone, and when he glances up, he sees that that someone just happens to be Lydia. He flinches back, eyes wide and Lydia lets her books cascade from her arms in surprise.

“Well?” Lydia isn’t surprised to see him. “You’re picking those up.” She prompts when Stiles doesn’t say anything.

Stiles blinks and leans down, piling them up, “You okay?” he asks, “School going okay…?”

“Don’t waste time with small talk,” Lydia sighs, “It really doesn’t suit you.”

Stiles sighs, standing and presenting her with her books, “Fine. Then whose side are you on in this?”

“I’m not picking sides. It’s not that simple. I’m not on any side in your little werewolf battle, okay? So leave me out of it. I’ve had enough.” She pushes past him, striding off down the corridor.

Stiles follows after her. “It’s not that easy,” he says, “You can’t just walk away. How can you, knowing what’s out there? You’re really going to leave Scott and Derek to their own devices?”

Lydia draws to a halt. “What are you suggesting?” she asks.

“Keep an eye on them?” Stiles asks and he lets the faint bit of worry and hope creep into his voice, “Make sure they don’t do anything stupid. I’ve got Peter covered, but if they catch attention of the Argents…”

Lydia sighs, grabs one of his arms and drags him backwards into a nearby janitor’s cupboard. There’s no janitor, Stiles remembers. Because he’s dead. That’s another guy he had forgotten Peter had killed. “You think that by working with Peter in some misguided way that it is going to protect them - well let me tell you - you’re wrong.”

Stiles wrenches his wrist free, “Why am I here then?” he asks, gesturing to the small space around them, “Did you drag me into a closet to tell me you disapprove of my life choices?”

“No,” she corrects, eyes assessing and Stiles can’t tell what she’s thinking, “You’re here because I agree. I’ll keep an eye on Scott and Derek.” She pauses, breath hitching. Stiles’ attention is drawn to her racing pulse, and he can feel it shiver through him. The teeth in his mouth are sharper than they should be, and he realises suddenly he is staring at the pale skin of Lydia’s throat in less of his usual ‘she’s so hot’ and more of an ‘I could rip her apart with my bare teeth’.

It should scare him. He knows it should. Instead, he feels powerful. In control. “And…?” he prompts, stepping forwards until he’s right up in Lydia’s personal space, “What do you want in return?”

Lydia’s breath hitches that little bit again at the teasing note in his voice. “Jackson dumped me.” She says, intelligence blossoming in her eyes, “So how about you…” she presses a finger into his sternum, “Take me to the Formal.”

“To make him jealous.” He states, voice eerily calm.

“Of course. It’s not like I _like_ you or anything.”

“No?” Stiles is weirdly bemused. Because she loves Jackson. She does, he can smell that. But she’s asking him to go to the formal with her. Lydia Martin is asking him… “You want to go with me?”

“As friends.” Lydia smiles thinly, “Yes. Will you?”

“Really?” he asks, “You want to go with me? _Me_?”

“Are you complaining?”

“No. Not at all.” He blusters, “But as friends right? This is a friend thing - helping you out to get back at Jackson?”

Lydia rolls her eyes, “Naturally. I don’t like you like that.”

Stiles listens to her heart blip and wonders why he isn’t more excited. He leans forwards, resting his arms on the walls on the cupboard and effectively pinning Lydia in place, “Really? Because I can tell when you’re lying, you know that? I can hear your heartbeat.”

“Well then: tell me this. Am I lying now?” Lydia asks, and then she fists a hand in his shirt and drags him down into a brutal power hungry kiss.

Stiles has dreamt about kissing Lydia. None of them though, not one, was like this kiss. It wasn’t even vaguely romantic. It was brutal, rough and entirely about power dominance. Lydia was trying to keep control of things, trying to find an equal, trying to maintain her power.

She’d make a brilliant wolf, Stiles found himself thinking, and it was enough to jerk him back. Because this wasn’t how this was meant to go. What the hell was he doing, standing in a dark closet kissing Lydia Martin?

“What is it?” Lydia whispers, gazing up at him. His lips are red, and her hair hangs down over her shoulders. He tries to think of how to say it, how to explain that everything is wrong and it all comes back to Peter…

His feels sick, because Stiles has already made his choice. Now he has to stick with it. He focuses on the memory of power. Of the moon beating through him and the thrill of the hunt, of the feeling of pack.

His doubts fade away. He’s on a joyride of power, or something to that extent. It’s not fun, and he’d rather be doing anything but. Still, he might as well enjoy what he can.

Lydia is still blinking up at him so he shakes his head. “Nothing,” he grins, eyes flashing blue as he runs a hand through her hair and pulls her back in.

 

Allison keeps trying to tell him that he's lost Stiles. Over and over, she tells him to be careful. That Stiles is working with Peter now.

Scott doesn't quite believe her until he walks in on Stiles and Lydia together. It's angry and Lydia is shoving Stiles backwards, and Stiles lets her, because they are glued together tongue to tongue and lips to lips. It's fierce and furious and not passionate at all. It's not like Stiles at all. While Scott can recognise the dominance in Lydia, the thing in Stiles - it's a predator. It's a wolf that has finally grown into its fangs.

Stiles is dangerous, he realises. Stiles is no longer just his clever friend who can spot patterns in crime scenes. Neither is he the awkward nerd whose ADHD is the only reason he's not recognised for any skills.

Stiles is a wolf, and he is cunning and knowledgeable, manipulative and protective. Scott knows at his heart that the only reason Stiles is doing this is to protect Scott, to protect his dad, to protect them all, but Peter's tearing away the few morals that Stiles has left leaving a well-trained rabid monster in place of his best friend.

And Scott can't play blind. He knows what Stiles is doing. He's seducing Scott's friends and support away one by one. First Jackson who wanders off so easily with false promises and gifts. Then Lydia with sex and power.

Scott doesn't want to admit it but he's losing. The winter formal is this Friday and he's losing.

He's losing and he doesn't know what to do.

 

“You’re going with _Stiles_.”

“Yes.” Lydia examines a selection of perfumes, “Got a problem with that? I didn’t think you had any designs on him.”

Allison steps up and leans closer. Lydia stiffens while Allison whispers in her ear, “No, but that’s because he’s helping a murderer.”

“I noticed,” Lydia spins around to face Allison, “You haven’t said one word about how Stiles actually did more than help. If we have the story right, Stiles is doing a fair bit of murdering himself.”

“Because of Peter.”

Lydia turns away. Allison moves after her.

“Because Peter’s insane, and it’s obviously contagious and now Stiles is on the insane revenge plan bandwagon.”

“So?” Lydia shrugs, picking up a bottle and spraying a little bit onto a piece of paper. She sniffs it daintily, “I still don’t see a problem.”

“Stiles has killed people. Aren’t you at least a little bit worried?”

Lydia considers it for a moment. Stiles is dangerous, yes, but isn’t anybody? Isn’t Scott dangerous? Even more so since Scott’s control is more tenuous than Stiles’. And she’s had a sneak into Stiles’ psyche in the time they spent together. And she didn’t see the hyperactive spaz he presented to the world.

She saw an equal.

And she likes that.

“So maybe I’m into the bad guys.” Lydia pulls out a pen, noting down the perfume name, “Anyway our arrangement only is in place to make Jackson jealous.”

“Really?” Allison is unimpressed by the petty reason.

“Really.” Lydia pushes past, “Now, I promised I was going to buy you a dress. Especially after we got interrupted yesterday by your aunt of all people. So we are going to find a dress. Now. Before it’s too late.”

“The formal is only Friday,” Allison sighs.

“I know.” Lydia blinks, “It’s Monday. I can’t believe you left it this long.” She rolls her eyes, pausing and examining Allison’s frown. “Have you ever heard the saying?” she asks, “’Never frown. Someone could be falling in love with your smile.’ Smile, Allison.”

Allison sighs, offering a weak smile.

“Great.” Lydia says, “Now, I think this one is perfect?” she pulls a dress off a rack, holding it up.

“The lace?” Allison frowns, “I don’t think I suit lace.”

“For me, idiot,” Lydia holds it up against herself, “Hmmm… no, I think you’re right. It’s too much.” She puts it back. “Now this one you could wear.” She finds another, soft red silk and holds it up to Allison’s hand.

“That’s not your colour,” some guy remarks, voice smooth. Allison glances at him, bemused by his attempt to help. Lydia steps back, because who the hell is trying to compete with her fashion advice?

She turns with a retort on her tongue, but it dies when she sees who it is. She’s never met him, but she’s seen an admittedly blurry picture from the security feed. It takes her a moment to recognise that something is different, that there is no marred skin on half of his face, but the man is the same.

“You.” she says. Allison must pick up the tone in her voice, because she makes as if to step back, but Peter catches her wrist.

He pulls out another dress, “This is more to your skin tone.” He suggests calmly, holding her wrist next to the material. “Your skin is a beautiful fair tone and it just needs the right colour to…” he smiles, “Bring it out to its full potential.”

Allison snatches her wrist away, and both she and Lydia are staring at the red eyes. “You’re Peter.”

“That’s me.”

“What do you want?” Lydia asks, sharply.

Peter spreads out his hands placating, “I just wanted to meet you. Friends of Stiles and Scott… must be wonderful people. Beautiful, intelligent…” he’s eyeing Lydia with an odd sort of hunger that makes her uncomfortable, “And one of them a hunter,” his gaze switches to Allison. “Shopping for a high school dance?”

“What?” the sudden change of topic throws Allison, “It’s a formal.”

“Ah. Formal.” Peter nods, face twisting slightly, “That’s another new thing. A guy misses six years and the whole school system is different.”

Lydia wonders if he’s trying to illicit sympathy or something, but she’ll never get the opportunity to tell what Peter really wanted because at that moment there are footsteps in the background and a sharp “Peter.”

Peter glances lazily over one shoulder. Lydia follows his gaze, seeing Stiles standing there, head ducked slightly, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket. “Yes,” Peter drawls, and even Lydia can hear the touch of irritation in his words.

“Can I have a word?” Stiles doesn’t really ask.

Peter glances back at Allison and Lydia, “Terribly sorry, ladies. I’m going to have to go, but maybe we can talk another time.”

He may have said that just to mess with Stiles who shifts his weight uneasily in the background, but it aids to make Lydia nervous. Nonetheless Peter steps backwards, turning and walking straight past Stiles. For a moment the beta looks at the two girls, eyes full of emotion, but then he spins around and slinks away in the alpha’s footsteps.

Lydia turns to Allison, “Still think he’s such a bad guy.”

Allison glances at her, “I think he’s a hell of a lot more crazy than I gave him credit for.”

 

They head through the mall in silence. Peter only speaks as they reach the car park where a pale blue jeep is parked next to his car. “Did you track me all the way here?” he asks, glancing around, “That’s impressive. Definitely improvement.”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles blurts out.

“For what?” Peter smiles slightly, and somehow it’s scarier than when he wasn’t smiling. “Feeling protective?” the alpha laughs, “Stiles, I know you have something for the red head, but the hunter girl too?”

“You’re not exactly making the best impression.” Stiles grits his teeth, “And it’s creepy. Could you maybe try a little less with the creepy uncle impression?”

Peter’s face loses the amusement, and Stiles is almost expecting the reaction. He’s still too slow to dodge when Peter’s hand lashes out, grabbing the back of Stiles’ neck and slamming him head first into the car.

“Owww,” Stiles groans, because it hurts and he doesn’t want that to shut him up. He doesn’t like to be pushed around. “Was that really necessary?”

“When are you going to start trusting me, Stiles?”

Stiles opens his mouth and then closes it, because the answer is never, but at the same time it’s his _alpha._ There’s a conflict in his head and he can’t find an answer quickly enough. Peter snorts slightly but doesn’t comment. He turns, flipping out his key and opens his car trunk. Stiles flinches a little at that, but all his Alpha does is pull out a jacket.

Tugging it on he turns to Stiles. “Now then, do you actually have something to talk about or was that just an excuse?”

“Whose car is this?” Stiles blurts out instead, changing the subject.

“Mine.” Peter answers.

“Then whose car did you leave me in?”

“That belonged to my nurse. I got better so I dropped her as dead weight.”

Killed, Stiles translated, but he knew that already. “And me?” he can’t help but ask. What will happen to him when Peter has finished his revenge spree?

“You? I’m not going to kill you, Stiles, don’t worry. You’re useful. You’re smart. You have an excellent inside knowledge of law enforcement and how to circumnavigate it. You don’t care about right or wrong; you only care about your friends and family. And you can be downright vicious. I’ve seen it.” Peter’s praise makes Stiles feels warm and comforted, but the words themselves are twisted.

Peter’s good with words, he notices. He knows just what to say at the right moment.

“The bite is a gift. That’s what we tell everyone and it’s true, but you’ve probably already worked it out. It’s not precise science and there’s just enough magic thrown in to make anything possible, but inherently the bite is a disease. A pathogen. Infectious and transferred through blood and saliva, through bites and lacerations.”

“Like rabies,” Stiles whispers.

Peter laughs, “Something like that. But this? It’s the best disease to catch. It’s empowering. That is, of course, if you survive. If your antibodies manage to fight the disease, you’ll die along with it, but if you survive…. Well… you are the disease.”

“What’s your point?”

“My point? The bite gave you power, Stiles. It gave you claws and a howl, but everything else? That was there already. What is it they say in that stupid teenage girl movie about vampires? That’s right… you were made to be a werewolf.”

“But…” Stiles chews on his lip, pulling out a piece of paper, “Derek said… we’re predators but… we don’t have to be killers. I’m a werewolf, not a murderer.”

“Your eyes disagree.” Peter meets his gaze cleanly. Stiles ducks his eyes away, because it’s true. Stiles killed for Peter. It’s like a permanent scar that only he can see when he looks into the mirror and his eyes flare blue instead gold.

Scott’s are still gold.

Stiles hopes to keep them that way.

He holds out the paper. “My dad’s been looking into the murders. He’s half a step away from linking them all to the Hale fire.”

Peter snatches it up, examining the transcript of Harris’ confession. He reads through it, lip curling in disgust.

“They should be able to link it to Kate.” Stiles continues, “And after that everything falls through. She’ll go to prison for sure and…” he stops, because Peter has crumpled the paper into a ball and slipped it into a pocket.

“And?” Peter gestures, “Go on.”

“You’re not going to do it - are you?” Stiles whispers, “I thought… Derek could confess. And you and then… then you don’t have to kill and everything can just go back to… but you’re not - are you?” Peter shakes his head. Stiles swallows and keeps going, “Won’t you consider it? It’s the quickest way to get Scott and Derek onto your side. And then we’d be a pack… a proper pack and not what we are now with those two doing who knows what. I know Kate won’t be dead, but surely it will be better than ripping her into shreds and leaving her dead bo--” His words are cut off suddenly when claws slice across his face.

Stiles didn’t even see this one coming.

His head whips down to one side, feeling the words die on his tongue. He cautiously reaches one hand up, feeling the blood welling up. There are four lines scoring across his face, starting above his eyebrow, two on his cheek and one on his jawline. They continue along a diagonal, narrowly missing his eyes, and the lower one cutting his lip. He can taste blood.

“I can’t… let her get away alive after what she did,” Peter’s voice is low, “You understand that, right, Stiles? You know there is a reason our symbol of revenge is a spiral. Most see it as how something spirals out of control but it’s not really. We start with the outsiders. The idiots who didn’t fully understand what they were doing, and we work out way into the centre.”

Stiles glances up, eyes wide and terrified as he takes in Peter Hale. Peter reaches out and Stiles flinches away, his hands coming up to push Peter away but all the alpha does is wipe a drop of blood from one of the claw marks. Stiles’ hands rest on the alpha’s wrist, stiffening. He doesn’t know what to do. He has no idea and…

“Kate.” Peter whispers, “Kate is the centre of the spiral. She will be the last to die. She’ll know it is coming and I will enjoy it. And you will be there, besides me.”

Stiles can’t even think clearly to form words.

“Will you be there Stiles?” Peter asks, “Are you going to help?”

“You like to ruin people, don’t you?” Stiles whispers.

“Oh Stiles. You’ve already ruined yourself. That’s the beauty of it. Will you be there?”

“Yes,” he finds himself saying, unsure and hesitant. He repeats himself, more certain, “Yes. I’ll help. I’ll be there.”

Peter’s smile is a wicked and wonderful thing.

 

Jackson is in the locker room after school, angrily pushing weights. He’s going to need the extra muscle when he becomes a - he mentally scoffs - werewolf.

He thinks of the power he’s going to have and it just encourages him to struggle harder with the weights, moving in time with the music.

Then the music stops.

Jackson falters. He has to clench his teeth and push up, but it’s disrupted his rhythm. He is suddenly aware of how much he is pressing, and the heavy weight bearing down on him.

Then a hand reaches out and drags it up, slotting it onto the rest. Jackson heaves a sigh of relief, lying back and letting his eyes drift closed.

“So werewolves, huh?” Jackson jumps, sitting up and his gaze focussing on the figure leaning in the shadows, resting one shoulder against a locker. “That must have been fun to discover.”

Jackson sneers, standing and grabbing a towel, rubbing at the sweat clinging to his skin, trying to ignore the way the eyes follow him as he moves past, stopping next to where his stuff is piled in his locker. "What do you want, Stilinski?" Jackson tries to calm his racing heart, but judging from the smirk on Stiles' face he's heard it already.

And then he moves, body shifting so he's effectively cornering Jackson against the locker, "You," he states calmly, leaning closer. His eyes spark and flare blue. It’s not a natural blue; there is something electric to it. It makes it seem fake, like a mix of ice and steel.

Jackson angles back, head hitting against the metal behind him, "Don't..." he stutters out, and he's never been scared of Stilinski before, but Stiles is a werewolf, has recently spent the weekend with a murdering psychopath and now there's something about the way he moves that just screams predator.

"Don't?" Stiles mocks, angling back, "So you _don't_ want the bite?  Because that's what I was under the impression that you wanted."

And Jackson's breath catches in his throat and his heart races.

Stiles grins, lips curled back just enough to show the hint of a fang, "That's what I thought."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to thank everyone who has kudo-ed, bookmarked or commented on this story so far! I should have the entie story up by Sunday. This story will finish at the end of s1 - do people want me to continue this AU into s2 and beyond or shall I stick to just s1?


	19. Cain

“If you and Derek team up can you take out Peter?”

“Yes, but then we’d still have to deal with Stiles.”

“Can you take out Peter on your own?”

“No, not without Scott’s help and if Scott’s distracted with keeping Stiles busy then I can’t win against Peter.” Derek sighs, frustrated because the Argent girl keeps asking questions but they’re just talking around in circles.

“Well what if we distracted Stiles?” she poses, and Derek opens his mouth to repeat that he needs Scott’s help when she keep talking, “Lydia and I. Lydia is going with him to the Formal. You could do it then.”

Scott is standing over by the window, “What does it take to keep a werewolf down?” he asks, “I could steal some ketamine from Deaton…?” he trails off, and it’s just as well because Melissa appears in the doorway.

“Hey Scott there is a pizza in the fridge for you and All…” she stops, taking in the sight of the three of them. “You and Allison.” She finishes. “And…”

“Derek.” Scott swallows. “He’s a friend who agreed to tutor me. In chemistry. Yeah, he’s my tutor and we were just getting to know each other a bit.” He shoots his mom an award winning smile.

Derek wonders how he managed to get dragged into all these teenager’s lives. He’d tried hard not to, but somehow he was now Lydia’s boyfriend, Scott’s new friend, Allison’s cousin… the only one who hadn’t tried to drag him into their life was Stiles. Derek should hang out with Stiles more often.

Then again hanging out with Stiles involved hanging out with Peter and he was trying to avoid that.

“Okay,” Melissa nods, “Nice to meet you Derek. You kids have fun, I am going to go and enjoy my night off. Something involving a long hot shower and a marathon of tv shows I have missed. Bring me up a slice of pizza, okay sweetie?”

“Sure, mom.” Scott nods, and there is honest care in his eyes as he watches his mom head back upstairs. He stares after her for a moment, then turns back to Derek, “How much ketamine would we need to knock out Stiles while we killed Peter?”

Derek shrugs, “It’s hard to tell. But that might work. The trouble is trying to move before Peter enacts his plan.”

Allison sighs, leaning forwards and wrapping her hands together, “The question is what is his plan? What’s his next step?”

They all fall silent, because none of them are clear on that point.

“He still wants us in his pack,” Derek states, because that is one thing he does know. Peter needs the support of a pack. Stiles is more than he had a month ago, but it’s not enough. It’s not stable. Peter is still seeking to recruit Scott and Derek, evidenced by the way he turned up to stalk the girls at the shopping mall. Derek himself has been keeping his head down, trying to avoid the alpha.

He’s scared that if he meets Peter again he might give in from the guilt. He might forget that he killed Laura and agree, might just nod and fall into step behind the red-eyed werewolf.

There is a knock on the door.

“Ignore it,” Scott doesn’t move to answer it, turning instead to Derek. “Would he actually carry out a threat to kill us if we don’t join him? Or would he let us stay here but not in his pack?”

“We’d be a threat,” Derek shakes his head, “He wouldn’t leave a threat uneliminated.” He glances at Allison, wondering if he should tell her that her family are probably a target, but from the girl’s expression she knows already.

The knock on the door sounds again.

“Who is that?” Allison asks, frustrated. Derek agrees, because is it too much to have a conversation with Scott and Allison without being interrupted?

“I’ll go see,” Scott sighs, standing and moving towards the door. He doesn’t get there, freezing half-way and staring at the door.

“What is it?” Allison asks.

“I…” Scott frowns. “Nothing.” He shakes his head, stepping forwards and twisting the handle.

“No,” Derek stands suddenly, but it’s too late, the door is swinging open and Allison freezes at seeing who stands there.

“We didn’t finish our conversation earlier.” Peter grins at them from the doorway. “Can I come in?”

 

Scott’s first instinct is to slam the door in Peter’s face.

He promptly does so, only for Peter to stick his foot out, causing the door to harmlessly bounce off his foot. “Really? Slam the door in my face? Come on, Scott. Take a second to think that through.”

“What do you want?” Behind him Derek steps forwards, growling slightly. Peter just grins and steps in, ignoring Scott entirely and crossing the boundary line.

“Don’t you need to be invited in or something?” Allison snaps, and Scott has no idea what she’s talking about.

“That’s vampires.” Peter corrects her.

Allison’s laugh is fake, “Oh, I’m sorry. What with the way you were admiring my skin tone earlier I thought you were getting concerned with how pale you might be appearing to us fragile mortal humans.” Scott hasn’t realised that a pissed off Allison has a tongue to match Stiles’. Then her words hit him.

“You were creeping on Allison?”

“I was admiring her skin. She has the most flawless skin, have you noticed? You must have, since you two spent so much time together.”

The way he is looking at Allison makes Scott angry and the girl uncomfortable. Derek doesn’t look too surprised, so Scott wonders if Peter has always been this creepy, but unfortunately the fascination with skin is probably a new thing. Scott flinches, because he remembers how Peter’s own skin had been burnt and blistered by the fire.

“What do you want?” he challenges.

“I said that I’d find you again. I want your answer.”

“I gave you my answer. Didn’t Stiles pass on the message?”

Peter’s lips give an amused twitch, “Stiles is not a messenger. I wanted to hear it from the source. That and I have been unable to locate Derek recently.” He glances at the blue-eyed beta, “Been hiding from me, nephew?”

Derek glares stonily back, “You know what my answer is. You killed Laura.”

“I was out of my mind.”

Scott can see the indecision in Derek’s eyes and he needs Derek on his side in this, “And now?” he asks, “Are you out of your mind now?” he leaves the question hanging and moves on, “I’m not joining your pack.”

“Not even for Stiles?”

Scott presses his lips together and remains silent.

Peter sighs, “You understand that we’re more powerful together, right? You, me, Stiles, Derek… did you know that some of the most successful military operations during the second world war were the German U - boat attacks ? Do you know what they called them? Wolf packs. Did you know that? Or are you failing history as well?”

“The Germans lost the war,” Allison retorts for him.

Peter just looks amused, “I think you'll find that most historians would argue that as a failure of leadership. And trust me, we don't have that problem here.” He sighs, glancing between the three of them, “It seems you appear to be trying to form your own little pack. A pack of omegas and humans, Scott, is nothing compared to a pack made of true wolves. You’ll see that soon enough.”

“I’m not coming with you.”

“Not yet.”

“Scott!” Melissa’s voice interrupts the tense atmosphere for a moment, “Have you put that pizza on yet? I’m star-- oh…” she stops, staring at where Peter is still loitering in the hall because like hell Scott is going to invite him in further. “Uh… I thought I heard the door but…?”

“This is Derek’s uncle.” Scott’s so bad at lying, but at least this isn’t a lie. “He was checking up. On Derek.” Stiles is better at lying than him, he thinks bitterly.

Stiles is better at a lot of things than him.

It doesn’t make him feel any better.

Scott also doesn’t like the shy smile his mom is shooting in the direction of the alpha werewolf. “He was just leaving,” he blurts out.

“Yes,” Peter nods, glancing at Melissa, “Sorry to intrude, I’ll be on my way. I just wanted to meet young Scott here. He’s a bright boy.”

Melissa laughs, rubbing at the back of her neck, “Unfortunately his grades disagree.” She sighs, “But it’s wonderful that your nephew agreed to tutor him. I really appreciate that.”

Derek looks uncomfortable at that, and Scott chews on his lip. Unfortunately Peter answers first, “He’s a wonderful son. I’m sure you must be very proud. Scott’s not like most teenagers. He’s sensible. Smart… not in the educational sense but in making good decisions. It’s… it’s just a shame not all teenagers are like that. Some of them… like that Jackson on the lacrosse team - they make a lot of stupid choices.”

Scott’s mom laughs, “Yeah, I’m sure.” She ducks her head.

“Well,” Peter steps back, “I’ll be off. I’ll see you around.” Scott gets the door, and he can’t let the alpha out of the house fast enough. But his words are still ringing in his head.

Allison and Derek turn to him as the door closes, and it’s only then that the full implications hit him.

“Jackson,” he gasps out, “He’s going after Jackson.”

“What was that Scott?” Melissa looks through from the kitchen, but the front door is already open and Scott is sprinting out. Derek growls something to Allison and follows.

In bemusement Melissa meets Allison’s gaze.

“They had something they needed to do,” Allison shrugs, smiling blithely, “Important,” she mouths, with a shrug, “I have no idea. But I hope you don’t mind if I stay for that pizza?”

 

“That place doesn’t look safe,” Jackson stares at the ruined house. “Are you sure that it’s safe?”

“Perfectly,” Stiles grins, skipping past him and jumping up the porch steps in one bound, turning the door handle and gesturing inside. “After you.” he says, stepping back.

Jackson swallows back his nerves, trying to ignore the way his heart pounds. Stiles is still grinning at him, and Stilinski knows exactly how nervous he’s making Jackson. Steeling his nerves, he steps in, listening to the floor creaks.

“What if a rafter or something falls on me?” he blusters.

“Well it would be a terrible waste of a rafter,” Stiles laughs, and the door clicks shut behind him. Jackson whirls around.

“Where’s the alpha? What… what is this place? I… I’ve been here before.”

“Have you really?” Stiles drawls, looking only mildly interested, “Wow.” He sticks his hands in his jacket pocket, lounging back and observing as Jackson spins around.

“Yes. But it… it wasn’t burnt. It was normal. There was a staircase and the walls had paint on and it’s like a dream.”

“Derek clawed you up.” Jackson isn’t even aware of Stiles moving until he’s right behind him, one hand resting on the back of his neck and forcing Jackson to his knees. The humiliating thing is Jackson goes. He drops to his knees with a whimper as Stiles places four fingers over the marks on the back of his neck.

“I’m not scared of you,” he scoffs. “I’m not afraid.”

He feels the fingers flex and in the next second there are claws, pricking at his skin. He freezes. “Oh, but I think you are.” Stiles hums, “I think you’re afraid of a lot of things. Like failure, that’s a big one. You’re scared you’re going to disappoint someone, scared that you’ve already disappointed someone and that’s why you’re adopted. And you’re terrified, absolutely terrified that you’re going to lose. Lose the girl, lose the game, lose your popularity to someone else. Or even…” the claws dig in deeper, “Lose your life.”

Jackson moves away, feeling Stiles’ claws tear a little at his neck as he stands, turning to glare at Stilinski. He falters upon seeing the blue eyes and ends up sitting down abruptly on the stairs. “You’re not going to kill me,” he says, confidently.

“Aren’t I?” Stiles shrugs, “You’re dead weight. Baggage. Did you really think we’d pick you to join us? Did you really think you’d gotten that lucky?”

“You lied,” Jackson feels something in his chest tighten, “Nobody else is coming, are they?”

Stiles shrugs, “No. Nobody cares enough about you for that. Not Lydia. Not Derek. Not Scott. Not Allison. And no, not even Peter cares enough about you to offer you the bite. That’s a shame - actually - because you might have the guts to do what Scott can’t...”

“Don’t kill me!” Jackson scrambles back up another step, away from Stiles. “I won’t tell anyone. I haven’t yet, have I? I’ve kept your little secret! I’ll keep quiet; I’ll even let you have Lydia!”

“Lydia?” Stiles chuckles, “I’ve already got Lydia. But you? You’ve got nobody. Look around - nobody is here trying to save you!” he gestures to the empty house and it’s true.

Jackson isn’t worth anything to anybody and they both know it.

“You’re wrong.”

Stiles’ head snaps up and Jackson almost wants to slump in relief at hearing Scott’s voice.

“Step away from him,” Derek’s voice is there too.

“Or you’ll what, Scotty?” Stiles asks, cautiously, “What will you do if I go for his throat right now?”

“Stiles. Step away from him.”

“How about no?” and Stiles moves towards Jackson, claws out and eyes blue. Jackson thinks that this is it. He is going to die. He’s going to be killed by the Sheriff’s own son and he can only hope that one day they work this out so the man is one day forced to arrest the crazy bastard and lock him up somewhere dark and depressing.

Stiles doesn’t reach him. Stiles doesn’t reach him because Scott reaches Stiles first, slamming into his friend and knocking him away from Jackson. It is only afterwards that Jackson realises he wasn’t meant to reach him. Jackson was just there as bait. Bait to get Scott and Derek off their asses and to fight.

Bait to make them all targets.

That’s when the sound of gunfire hits Jackson’s ears.

 

Scott collides with Stiles and the pair roll over, claws and fangs both flashing in the air. Stiles hasn’t made to lash out, instead he’s grinning up at Scott when they finally stop rolling, Scott on top, “Do you understand now?” he asks, and that’s when their fight is interrupted by the sound of gunfire.

Something blinding flashes overhead, and Scott clenches his eyes closed, rolling off Stiles. Derek nearby is shouting something, but Scott can’t hear what the other beta is saying.

“Come on!” Stiles has claws in Scott’s shirt and is yanking him up, “Get out!” He shouts in Scott’s ears, throwing him forwards.

Then Derek is there, “We have to run!” he’s saying, and Jackson is already gone, already fled. Coward, Scott thinks, but at least he’s safe and alive. Stiles on the other hand--

Stiles slams into Scott, and the gold-eyed beta’s back hits the wall with a thud, just as gun fire ripples across where they just stood. Stiles presses himself to Scott, effectively pinning him against the wall.

“Stiles,” Scott whispers.

Stiles just laughs, “Well if I’d known pinning you against a wall would get this reaction out of you I would have tried it ages ago,” he leers. “Don’t worry. We can invite Allison.”

“Get off me!” Scott shoves his friend, and Stiles stumbles, just as another round of gun fire echoes out.

With a startled hiss Stiles throws himself backwards, and Scott pushes himself away from the wall, ducking down and around to the back of the house. The smell of gunpowder makes his nose twitch and he almost trips when another flash arrow blinds him.

He’s lost track of Derek and Stiles and Jackson, and all he can concentrate on is himself. He throws himself out of one of the downstairs windows near the back, falling and rolling into soft leaf mould. The forest is warm and welcoming compared to the harsh corners of the house and the bullets.

He trips, stumbling his way away from the house. He makes it as far as he can before he has to stop, has to rest and press a hand to his side, trying to catch his breath.

His hand comes away bloody.

That’s bad, some part of his brain thinks. Really bad.

But the world is going black around him and it’s easier to close his eyes that to think, so Scott does so.

The forest floor is soft and warm and Scott falls down onto it, eyes slipping closed.

 

Scott wakes up to the smell of anaesthetic and his boss smiling over him.

He lurches upwards, the world spinning, “Woah,” Deaton holds out his hands reassuringly, the same way he would soothe an injured dog, “I wouldn’t get up just yet. Your body took quite a bashing and your healing is slow.”

Scott sits there for a few moments, staring at his smiling boss. “What happened? Where am I?” it’s a stupid question because he knows he’s at the clinic. He can smell the animals next door, the various antiseptics and the familiar scents of his workplace. “Who _are_ you?” he asks.

“I’m a veterinarian.” Deaton smiles, “I’ve given you something to speed up the healing process. It won’t be long until you’ll be okay to go.”

“You’re a vet.” Scott repeats, numbly, “But you know about…?”

“90% of the time,” Deaton interrupts, “I’m mostly treating cats and dogs. But on occasion I have had to deal with whatever else it is that wanders through my door. Especially in a place like Beacon Hills.”

“What do you mean by ‘a place like Beacon Hills’?” Scott presses one hand cautiously to the bandage on his side, “And you know about werewolves?”

“I know about a lot of things.” Deaton smiles, just as the doorbell rings. His face falls slightly, “Excuse me a moment. I’m going to answer that.”

“No,” Scott grabs a hold of Deaton’s wrist, already scenting the acrid burnt scent of his alpha, “Don’t.”

Deaton calmly tugs his hand free, “It’s okay Scott.”

“But he…”

Deaton just smiles, “It’s okay,” he says again, and then turns to head to reception.

Scott considers how much he would regret it if he quit his job.

_“I’m sorry, but we’re closed.”_

_“Hi there. I’m here to pick up.”_ On the table Scott sinks down slightly, as if doing so might hide him from Peter’s senses. He wonders what will happen now. Will Peter take him like he did Stiles and in half a week Scott will be back, all for the revenge killings?

 _“I’m not sure I recall you dropping off.”_ Deaton’s voice remains confident and unmoving.

_“This one wandered in on its own.”_

_“Even if he did, I’m afraid I can’t help you. We’re closed.”_

_“Are you sure abou-- mountain ash. That’s an old one.”_

_“As I said. We’re closed.”_

Scott listens as Peter’s scent grows fainter, and then the door clicks as he leaves. Deaton remains standing there for a moment, confident and unmoving. He’s like a rock, Scott thinks, and decides he’s probably better off keeping this job. At least he won’t have to explain to his new boss about werewolves.

“How did you do that?” he asks, when Deaton finally comes back into the operating room.

“I know a few tricks.” Deaton smirks again, mysterious and Scott knows he’s not going to get a better answer than that. “When you’re feeling up to it, you’re free to go. Just try and avoid the right people this time.”

Scott nods frantically and Deaton turns to go. “Wait.” He blurts out, “How much ketamine would you need to knock a beta werewolf unconscious for a few hours?”

For a long moment his boss stares at him considering. “A fair dose.” He says, eventually, “Like one of those full syringes I keep in the top drawer of the fridge. That should be enough.” He turns away and Scott holds his breath, because he can’t believe it was that simple. He’s got a way, a plan, and if he finds out where Derek has got to, arranges it with the others he can do this--

“Oh, and Scott?” he looks up at Deaton standing in the doorway.

“Yeah?”

“If one of those syringes happens to go missing, I’m taking it out of your pay.” The vet smiles gentle, “The treatment though? That’s for free.”

Then he vanishes.

 

_“Come with me. I’ve got something to show you.”_

And like an idiot Allison goes. She follows after her aunt like a lost puppy, still periodically checking her phone to see if Scott calls. To see if Jackson is safe. The woods around her are dark and it wouldn’t be hard to run off to check on them, but she agreed to meet her aunt, sending off an agreement before she really thought about it.

She knew she should have gone with Scott and Derek. She shouldn’t have stayed behind waiting for a call. When it came it wasn’t from her friends.

From her pack, she thought with detached amusement. It seemed almost appropriate. They were her pack.

So was Stiles, she decides, even if he was currently running around with Peter.

She reads through the message her aunt had sent her again, and then looks up at the dark woods. The Hale House is nearby, she realises suddenly. Is that why she’s here?

She’s seconds away from moving over to see the Hale House, to see if Derek or Scott are there, but that’s when Kate appears through the trees. “There you are. Great!” she claps her hands together, “I’ve got something to show you,” she repeats her words from the text.

Allison nods, “What is it?” she asks, falling into step behind her aunt.

“This…” Kate stops suddenly, jumping off the bank. Allison peers over, and sees a door in the hillside.

“What is that?”

“Underground tunnels.” Kate smiles, “The Hales were a paranoid family.” She laughs, “It’s almost like they were planning what to do in case someone came after them. Too bad it didn’t work.”

The tunnels Kate leads her into are cold and dank, water spread in a thin layer along the floor. Kate strolls through unbothered, but Allison is more cautious. It smells musty and old, and just a bit like smoke. “What is down here?” she asks again, one hand reaching out to touch the cold stone walls.

“You wanted to know a little bit about our family?” Kate asks, “About our secrets? And you want to know about what attacked you. Well hopefully this will answer both of your questions,” and she slides open a door.

The first thing Allison sees is a table filled with weapons. There is a large machine that keeps sparking occasionally. With each flash there is an accompanied groan, and that is what draws Allison’s attention to the shape at the end of the room. There is an iron bar fence, and a figure pinned there, head lying weakly with his chin on his chest.

Her aunt flicks on the spotlight.

Allison holds back the gasp and the instant urge to rush over to see if he is okay.

It’s Stiles. He’s hanging limply from chains, backed against the barred fence. He must hear them coming, but he remains unresponsive.

“What… Stiles…” And Allison’s feet are moving forwards despite herself, “Oh god no…”

“Allison…” A hand on her arm stills her and she is aware of her aunt standing there. “Don’t. He’s not human.”

She has to act. She has to pretend. “What?” she asks, hands over her mouth, “What do you mean? It’s Stiles? God… he… did you kidnap him before?”

Kate laughs, low and mellow, “No, but I’d love to know who he spent the full moon with. But you just won’t talk, will you, dog?” and then before Allison can even scream she slams the dial of the machine connected to the wires on high.

It sparks and Stiles grits his teeth, a whimper escaping him. His feigned sleep is broken as he writhes from the pain. His eyes close, but Kate flicks the dial off and on again. “Show us those pretty peepers,” she leers, and Stiles glares at her, his eyes clouding up into their ice blue.

Allison gasps. She figures it’s appropriate. Her heart is steady though and Stiles’ gaze flickers to her and then back to Kate. His lips curl, showing fang. “What is he?” she whispers, “If he’s not human?”

Kate grins, “Shapeshifter. Lycan. Werewolf.” She whispers it dramatically. “To me though he’s just a dumb animal.” She laughs and Stiles flinches back, but he can’t get more than another centimetre or so away from her. “Come here…” Kate gestures and she steps forwards. Stiles presses back, but Kate grabs out, pressing up one lip until Allison can see the extended fangs. “This one’s reluctant to shift fully but you see that? Canines. Or fangs. Perfect for ripping and killing.”

Kate finally lets Stiles go and he spits, running his tongue over his teeth, “I’d love to rip your throat out,” he says, but his voice is hoarse, lacking its usual snark, “But lucky for you, you taste disgusting.”

He’s purposely not looking at Allison.

“Are you going to kill him?” Allison whirls on her aunt, “You can’t… he’s human too, right? He’s not a wolf all the time!?”

“Don’t get all ethical on me,” Kate scoffs. “Who do you think it was in the school? Who do you think killed the bus driver and the others?”

“Stiles?”

“Not just. There’s at least two more. Derek Hale is a born wolf who came back into town when his sister was killed. Then there’s an alpha. Alpha's the pack leader - Bigger, stronger, nastier. Those - are the real ugly motherfu--“

“And what is he?” Allison hates the joy in her aunt’s voice, “A beta?”

“You learn quick.” Kate grins. “You’ll be a hunter in no time!”

“A hunter? Is that what you are? Is that what… what dad…?”

“They weren’t going to tell you. Or if they were they haven’t decided when. They were worried you’d react badly.”

“Badly?” Allison’s voice is weak.

“Yeah,” Stiles coughs out. His voice sounds like gravel scraping over a chalkboard, and his eyes are fixed with hatred on Kate. “Badly as in the whole crying and sobbing and denying story. Worst case is you tell someone and they throw you in a mental institute for spewing nonsense about werewolves and monsters in the dark. After all… they can’t have their little secret get out now, can they?” he laughs, and there is blood clinging to his lips.

“You…” Kate points at Stiles angrily, “You shut up. Unless you fancy telling me if the alpha bit another beta.”

“Bite me.” Stiles bares his teeth in a grin, “You’re into bestiality right? After all you fucked Derek happily enough.”

Kate laughs, tossing her hair, but Allison can see the words have gotten to her. “Ignore him,” she purrs, “We’ll leave him rotting down here until he talks.”

“Why am I here?” Allison risks a glance over her shoulder, meeting Stiles’ steel blue gaze before Kate herds her away, back through the tunnels, “Why show me this? What am I meant to do?”

“For now?” Kate asks, leaning into her, “Nothing. Go to school, do your homework. Go to the Formal on Friday night. Be a normal teenage girl who doesn't know anything. But we both know the truth. You’re not a defenceless little girl and you can prove that to your parents.”

“How?”

“By helping me catch the other werewolves.”


	20. Revenge

“Does your father know?” Kate leans close and whispers in Stiles’ ear. He closes his eyes and plays dead, but it’s no use. She knows he’s awake. “Does daddy know that the killer he’s hunting… is his own son?”

“Does Chris know you burnt the Hales to the ground?” Stiles asks. His voice is dry, throat raw from crying out every time the electricity flows through him. He wishes he hadn’t gotten captured in the first place, but Scott had shoved him directly into the path of a bullet. Stiles had awaken from unconsciousness, only to find himself in shackles and Kate Argent smirking at him.

Kate pulls away, sharply. She laughs, to cover up her surprise, “You really are a clever one, aren’t you? Tell me: does your alpha like them like that? Young and clever?” she buries her nose in the crook of Stiles’ neck. He tries to flinch away but his range of movement is limited, “Virgins?” she breaths in one ear. “Who’s the other one, huh?” she leans back, examining him, “Is it pretty little Lydia? She’s smarter than she appears, isn’t she?”

Stiles doesn’t say anything.

“Or maybe it’s Jackson. He got clawed up pretty bad. Or maybe it’s someone else.”

“Why don’t you try asking Derek?” Stiles snaps, “I hear you two know each other. Biblically.”

Kate pauses, but she is turned away from him, so that Stiles can’t see her face. “Yes,” she decides something, “You’re definitely too clever for your own good.”

“Are you planning on talking me to death?” Stiles asks, “Or are you going to torture me?”

He instantly regrets the words. He should stop putting ideas in these people’s heads. “Oh sweetie,” Kate glances over shoulder, “I don’t want to torture you. But he does.” And she steps towards the door, just as another man slides through.

Stiles closes his eyes wearily and thinks this is going to be a long night.

 

He’s right. He’s only too right.

 

“Hey, have you seen Stiles?” Scott asks Lydia.

“No,” she shrugs, pursing her lips together innocently, “Have you asked anyone else?”

“I asked Jackson. He says he hasn’t seen Stiles since he - and I quote - ‘tried to kill him’.” Scott feels lost, and it’s not like he and Stiles have been talking regularly anyway. In fact it’s not like they’re talking at all, but he hasn’t seen Stiles around. Yet for some reason the Sheriff isn’t worried, hasn’t raised an alarm.

Scott is worried about Stiles. He’s worried about what Stiles and Peter are going to do next, and somehow he’s only more worried when he can’t keep an eye on either of them.

“It will be fine,” Lydia reassures him, “He’s taking me to the dance after all.” She smiles.

“Are you sure you’re okay with that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she scoffs, flicking her hair over one shoulder, “I don’t need you around to protect me.” She blinks up at him, “I can look after myself.”

“That’s the problem: I won’t be around to protect you.” Scott sighs, running a hand through his hair, “I can’t go.”

“What?”

Scott waves his arms around, “Coach won’t let me go. He says my grades are too low.”

Lydia glances up and down the corridor, “So sneak in,” she turns back to Scott decisively, “Nobody is going to notice.”

“Coach will skin me…”

“Only if he catches you,” Lydia shrugs, “You’ve got the drug, right?”

“Yes.”

“Good. So we get Stiles then.”

Scott opens his mouth. He doesn’t have a date or a suit or even tickets. He’s not prepared at all, and asides from Stiles agreeing to go with Lydia, he hasn’t even seen Stiles since the fight on Monday. He’s not even sure Stiles made it out. “If Stiles is even there,” he sighs, “There was gunfire and…”

Lydia tilts her head to one side, “Jackson made it out okay. And he’s human. I’m sure Stiles will be fine.”

“Derek’s okay.” Allison appears suddenly behind them. She chews on one lip, looking almost guilty, “I’m sure Stiles will be fine.” She seems nervous, but it must just be what they’re planning.

It’s not every day after all that you plan to take down an alpha werewolf.

“It will be okay,” Scott says, but he’s not sure who he’s reassuring, “After Friday it will all be okay.” He glances at first Lydia and then Allison. Lydia looks doubtful and Allison won’t meet his gaze. “It will be okay,” he says again, and this time he hears how hollow his words are.

No matter what happens on Friday he’s still going to be a werewolf. Now and forever.

Nothing is ever going to change that.

 

Stiles should be a mass of bruises and lacerations, except they all heal almost as soon as they are made. He hangs there in a haze of pain and healing. He’s not even sure how long it’s been. Kate makes a show of waving his phone about and sending off texts to his dad, stating he’s staying over at Scott’s, that there is dinner in the fridge… it makes Stiles sick because that means Kate knows his dad’s schedule. She knows when he’s a work and when he isn’t. She knows when to sneak in to make it look like Stiles has been home, and she knows far more than she should.

She’s not in now. The other guy - Marcus - is. He’s standing watching him, grinning. Stiles just wants to sleep but the other guy hasn’t let up all night.

“So got any other toys in that little box of yours?” Stiles licks his dry lips, cracking open one eye, “Or are you a one-trick wonder kind of guy?”

It’s probably a bad idea to wind up his torturer.

Ha. If someone had told Stiles three months ago that he was going to be issued his own personal torturer, Stiles wouldn’t have believed them. It’s a ludicrous thought, but what’s even more ludicrous is if they think he’s going to give up Scott, Derek or Peter.

He’s not going to say anything. He’ll die first. They’ll have to burn out his tongue to stop the insults, but they’ll have to kill him to get anything useful out of him. Stiles hears organs sell for a lot on the black market.

“I’ve got plenty of tricks,” the guy sneers. Then his face twists in pain. He makes an abortive movement behind him, but he doesn’t manage to turn fully before he’s out and down. He crashes to the ground and Stiles jerks his head up, just in time to see Allison step forwards, still holding onto the taser.

“So have I,” she says grimly. “My aunt gave me this,” Allison stares at the guy on the ground in wonder and then at the taser. “I don’t think she expected me to use it for this, though.” She takes her finger off the trigger and the guy stops spasming on the floor. She detaches the electrodes and drops the end, but pockets the taser. “She won’t know it’s me. The guy didn’t see my face. They’ll figure out that one of the others got you out.”

“Got me out?” Stiles asks, confusion evident in his voice. Is Allison rescuing him? “Sure that’s a wise idea?” he drawls, bitterness well up. “I’m a dumb animal after all.”

“I’m not leaving you in here to rot,” Allison steps over the body and examines the chains holding Stiles up. “Now I don’t particularly trust you,” she admits, even as she unshackles him, “But you’re Scott’s friend. And Scott trusts you. So help us. Prove to me that you can help.”

“I can’t,” Stiles shakes his head, “I’m in too deep. If I back out now he’ll kill my dad. You’d be better off leaving me here to rot.”

“I can’t do that,” Allison unclips the final manacle, “I want to be able to protect people. I don’t want to be a hunter like my parents or aunt, and I don’t want to be the one who starts the fire that kills a whole family of innocents.”

As soon as the chain is loose Stiles slips free, limbs weak and he finds himself tumbling to the ground with a snarl. Then there are warm hands and Allison is supporting him gently. He tries to shrug himself free of her grip, but he just manages to bring them both to their knees, supporting the other. “You know?” Stiles asks, “You know what she did?”

Allison nods, “I’m not asking you to stop Peter.” She whispers, “You want to protect your dad. I…” she swallows, “I want to protect Scott,” her voice is barely audible. Stiles stares at her, because is Allison suggesting…?

“Are you…?”

“The Winter Formal is tonight,” Allison adds, “You and he, you do it tonight.”

“You won’t like it.” Stiles coughs out, “His plan. You won’t like it.”

“If it means no other family burns to death, then do it.” Allison says.

And Stiles has no idea what is going through her mind, but for that moment they have an understanding at least. Allison wants her aunt dead. Or rather she’s prepared to look the other way while they kill her.

Stiles knows Peter will be only too happy to oblige.

 

Allison feels better about herself now that Stiles is no longer hanging in a dark dank tunnel under the Hale House. It had been agony to leave him there, to turn around and walk away, but if she let him loose too soon then her aunt would have known it was her. At least this way with all the other chaos going on, Kate won’t know until it’s too late.

“Drink?” Jackson offers her from the driver’s seat of his Porsche. She shakes her head.

“You’re going to do tonight sober?”

Allison glares at him, “You know what we’re going to do tonight. And I need my reaction time.”

“Right,” Jackson drawls, “You guys are going to knock out Stilinski and then you’re going to help Scott and Derek kill the alpha.” He looks tense, “How is this beneficial to me getting the bite?”

“When Derek’s the alpha he’ll give it to you.” Allison says sharply, snapping her mirror up. A figure moves across the rooftop.

“Wow,” Jackson breathes, “McCall isn’t even subtle.” He looks at her again, “What if Stiles isn’t there? I haven’t seen him since the other night.”

Allison nods, “He’ll be there.” She knows that much at least. She’s let Stiles loose. In some ways it would be almost easier to keep him chained up while they deal with Peter, but they need Stiles out to draw the alpha out, just as much as they need him out of the way. They lose anyway. Derek himself can’t find Peter, and so they’re hoping when the time comes that the alpha will show.

Everything is going to happen tonight, Allison can feel it in her bones.

“Stilinski,” Jackson greets, barely out of the car before he’s stiffening and glaring at where a lanky figure stands outside his blue jeep.

“Jackson,” Stiles smiles thinly as Allison slips out, before turning away and opening the door of his jeep. He helps Lydia down with ease and she rubs crinkles out of her dress.

“Hi Lydia - you look amazing.” Allison smiles at her friend, “Stiles.” She nods at the werewolf. Their gazes meet and he nods back, but his eyes are wary, as if he knows what they’re planning already.

“And you,” Lydia admires Allison, “And Jackson. You look handsome.”

“Obviously,” Jackson scoffs, “It’s Hugo Boss.” He stalks past, heading towards the dance. Allison shoots the pair an apologetic look. She glances at Jackson’s retreating back and then moves to follow after him.

 

“Well he’s charming,” Lydia sighs, “And you trying to kill him didn’t help matters.”

“I didn’t try to kill him,” Stiles rolls his eyes at the exaggeration, “So I threw him around a little. Made a few threats. Jackson’s just being dramatic.”

“He is that,” Lydia agrees, idly, fixing her hair slightly.

“You look beautiful,” Stiles reassures her, offering her his arm. She smiles at him and takes it, fitting herself to his side. It feels brilliant, it feels right and Stiles feels content. He’s taking Lydia Martin to the High School Winter Formal.

He tries to ignore the knowledge of what is going to happen later, and decides to enjoy the moment.

The pair follow after Allison and Jackson and head inside.

 

It’s noisy, and Allison has to lean next to Jackson to hear him speak. She shouts in his ear, “Do you wanna dance?” Everyone else is. Danny has a hot date and she sees Stiles and Lydia pressed together, her arms around his neck and their faces closer than they should be.

Jackson pulls a face at the suggestion. Allison should expect the ‘no’ anyway, considering who Jackson is, and as expected he shakes his head, “Do I have to?”

“No.” she shrugs, “I guess not. I’ll go dance with Scott.”

“Scott?” Jackson cranes his neck, trying to see where Scott is.

Allison glances around, and out of the corner of her eye she sees Stiles and Lydia slip away. She wonders if she should mention it or something, but decides not to. She needs Stiles at this point, just as much as he needed her to rescue him from Kate.

“If Coach catches him he’s going to have McCall’s head…” Jackson mumbles.

Allison wonders if Jackson cursed it or something, because there is a shift in the dancers and she hears Finstock yelling out. “McCall! I see you!”

She ducks her head to see where Scott had been sitting in the stands, watches his face fall and then the way he darts down, slipping out of sight. Jackson sighs next to her and she ignores him, trying to track Scott’s progress.

“Come here buddy! Come here! McCall! It’s a small gym, buddy! I’m gonna find you…”

Scott appears out of nowhere nearby, looking around wildly. “Hide me,” he whispers.

“Do you even have a ticket?” Jackson sneers, but Scott has spotted his salvation.

“Danny! Danny - dance with me!”

“What?”

“Dance with me.”

“No.”

Allison snorts and Jackson just gapes as Scott proceeds to beg Danny. “Please. Right now. Now!”

Danny holds up his hands, but whether it was to give in or push Scott away Allison isn’t sure. Instead Scott latches his arms around Danny’s neck and Danny - confused and slightly reluctantly - rests his hands on Scott’s hip, just as Coach appears through the crowd.

“McCall! You’re not supposed to…” he falls silent. “What the hell are you…?” he eyes up the pair, and Scott shifts his arms around Danny’s neck further.

“Yes, Coach?” Scott blinks innocently.

Everyone is turning to stare at Finstock and he appears aware of that. “Hold on, you… I was just saying that…” he looks worried, “He’s not supposed to… I mean he shouldn’t… not that I mean… you know what - just dance. Dance everybody! Dance! It’s a party!” he laughs, stepping back, while simultaneously glaring daggers at Scott. The multitasking has him tripping over a student and he snaps at them. “Greenberg! Move!” then spins around as the music starts up again.

“Thanks,” Scott lets go of Danny, “I owe you one, dude.” He meets Allison’s gaze. “It’s not funny,” he says, and she’s trying to stop laughing, “I’m serious.”

“It is a bit funny,” she has to admit it.

“Where’s Lydia?” Scott asks, “Is Stiles here?”

Jackson nods, “They came together. They were dancing just over…” he cranes his head, “Uh… just…”

Allison glances around. She remembers seeing the pair slip away, and they aren’t around. No strawberry blonde or tall lanky male.

“Where are they?” Scott looks worried suddenly, “You guys are meant to be keeping an eye on each other. We were meant to be watching out for them.”

“Can’t you smell them or hear them with your little wolfy senses?” Jackson drawls.

And Scott’s eyes say it all before he does, “No.” he says, “I don’t know where they are.”

 

“You want to dance?”

“Not really.” Lydia sighs, and she’s staring at where Jackson and Allison are talking together. Stiles follows her gaze with a sigh, because he’s reminded that he’s second best again. He’s here with the girl, but he doesn’t even have her.

Not really.

“I’m going to ask that again. Lydia - dance with me.”

She narrows her eyes at him, “Is that a threat?” she asks, “Because while that is an interesting tactic, my answer is still ‘no’.” This is why Scott shouldn’t worry about Lydia. She can take care of herself.

“No,” he says, sighing and running a hand through his hair, “No, I guess it’s kind of an admission.”

“Admission of what?”

“I’ve had a crush on you since third grade,” he shrugs, “But you’ve never even looked at me twice. In fact - I doubt you even knew my name.”

He’s taken the wind out of her sails and she blinks at him, mouth slightly open.

“I also think you can do far better than Jackson.” Stiles continues, “I mean - does he even know how clever you really are? Does he know that you’re going to go and win some mathematical Nobel Prize someday? Does he understand that everything he says to you doesn’t just bounce off that perfect make-up and hair but actually hurts the girl underneath? Because I know you’re there. I didn’t spend the past few weeks researching werewolves with the most popular girl in the school - I spent it with Lydia Martin. The real Lydia Martin. And I’ve just got to wonder how many people really know she exists.”

He finishes, breathing heavily. It’s like a weight off his shoulders though, and he glances away, then back to see, curious despite himself about her reaction. She’s considering him now.

“Do you know why I asked you to come with me?” she says, suddenly, hand in his and she’s tugging him backwards, “Why I didn’t settle for any jock boy from the lacrosse team?”

“Why?” Stiles asks, slightly breathless.

“Because Peter isn’t the only one who sees how clever you are.” Lydia whispers, and Stiles feels nothing but ice in his belly, “I know you’re smart. You’re so smart you’re lethal. You’re the only one who could even possibly give me a challenge. Could equal me.” She breaths the last two words, and then drags Stiles down by the collar to kiss him. It’s not as brutal as before, but it’s just as dominating. “By the way,” she leans backwards, leaving him still seeking out her lips. “It’s called a Fields Medal.”

“What?” Stiles blinks.

“Nobel doesn't have a prize for mathematics. The Fields Medal's the one I'll be winning.”

“Naturally,” Stiles laughs, a little breathless, “Hey, you want to get away from here for a little bit?” he gestures to the air around them, “It’s a bit stuffy here.”

“I’m not going to sleep with you.” Lydia states, “I don’t want that. Especially not if there are emotions involved.”

Stiles scoffs, “Who said anything about sleeping?” he leers, and Lydia actually smiles a little at that. She goes easily enough when he tugs her away, through a door and out into a corridor of the school. It’s dim and almost silent compared to the party.

“I just want to make sure you’re aware,” Lydia says, as Stiles pushes open the door to a nearby classroom and the pair almost fall through it, “I don’t like you like that.”

“You keep saying that,” Stiles mocks, “But your heart keeps skipping beats over the words: ‘i. don’t. like.’”

“It wouldn’t work out,” Lydia fiddles with one of the buttons of his shirt, “You’re a werewolf. Don’t they call that bestiality?”

“Ask Scott and Allison,” Stiles suggests, a little breathless as he kisses Lydia again, “They might know more…”

“You’re a werewolf who has killed people,” Lydia corrects that assumption in between kissing and sucking at his collar bone.

Stiles grins, "And yet you're not running. Why?"

Lydia sniffs, "You just claimed to have a crush on me since third grade. You're not going to hurt me."

Stiles shrugs, stepping closer, and lifting his hands from where they were draped across her small frame. "True," he says, leaning one hand against the wall and half pinning Lydia in where she stands. She tilts her chin up to meet his gaze as he blinks at her, "And you're not even afraid," he marvels. "I knew I liked you for a reason."

“I thought we were in here to make out,” Lydia glares at him, despite being trapped, “Your tongue never stops, does it, Stilinski?”

Stiles offers a wry grin, “Maybe another time I’ll show you exactly what my tongue can do. But right now, I’m afraid there’s someone else who wants to talk to you.”

She stiffens, and any atmosphere between them evaporates so fast it leaves Stiles frozen and cold. She stares at him with wide green eyes and her hands move up to his chest. “Stiles,” she whispers, “What are you talking about?”

“It’s okay,” he reassures her, and she shoves at him. He lets her, moving back and she pushes past, only to freeze when she spots Peter, leaning against the closed door.

“Oh no,” Lydia breaths. Her breath catches in her throat. Now she's afraid.

Good, Stiles thinks.

 

"Hello Lydia," the man steps forwards from the shadows, smiling at her.

"Peter Hale,” she says, “Alpha werewolf. How nice to meet you again. Not.”

"Yes," Peter smirks, “I’m sorry for the circumstances. You and Stiles seemed to be having so much fun.” He chuckles a little.

Lydia steps backwards away from Peter, and Stiles moves so he's suddenly behind her, hands around her wrists. She feels a sharp sting of betrayal from one of their own, switching sides. And from Stiles. She had trusted Stiles. Trusted him not to hurt her. But here he was, trapping her between him and Peter. She struggles, feeling the iron grip of the werewolf and kicks out with a heel.

It hits and Stiles winces, and she uses the distraction to slip one hand loose. "What do you want?" she asks, staring at Peter and then turning her head, trying to crane her head to see Stiles. She flails a little, hand waving and reaching for something to grab onto, to hit out with…

"You," Stiles breathes, eyes flaring blue as he stares her. Lydia's head whips back around just in time to see Peter's eyes flash red and the mouthful of teeth catch the light.

Then something sharp is sinking into her flailing wrist and she opens her mouth to scream but Stiles has a hand over her mouth. She feels the teeth sink in deep, and then just a bit deeper. Then they tear out and she whimpers, tugging her wrist to her chest.

She’s going to ruin her dress, she thinks, and she’s shivering and shaking. It’s probably shock, she realises, because she’s going limp, leaning against Stiles. He catches her easily, slowly lowering her to the floor. "Shhh," he croons, "It's okay, you'll live." he grins down at her, patting her on the shoulder and brushing a lock of hair out of her face, "You'll make a beautiful wolf."

Lydia's not sure what the look in Stiles' eyes means, some sort of fondness that isn't as creepy as it should be. He's already standing and the moment his skin leaves her the pain hits and she gasps out. "Don't…" she chokes, "No… I don't want..."

"Come on, Stiles." Peter reaches out a trailing hand towards the beta, "We have work to do."

Stiles doesn't glance down at her as he follows after his alpha, and Lydia is left curled up there in a daze, clutching her bloody wrist.

 

“Allison, try again.”

Scott strains his ears, listening for the ringing of Lydia’s phone in the silence of the school. He moves down another corridor. “There…” he says, moving forwards towards the noise. “Come on…”

“What if she’s with Stiles?” Allison bites her lip with worry. “I don’t need to see that.” For some reason Scott can’t identify, her heart is racing.

“She would have picked up,” Scott says, listening for the sound of the ringing phone. “Come on!” he breaks into a run.

The door to the classroom is open. It’s one of their English rooms, and Scott can smell and hear the sound of Lydia sitting there. He slows in the doorway, taking in the site of Lydia on the floor. The room smells like Stiles and Lydia and pheromones and beneath that the faint smell of blood and the acrid scent of Peter.

“Lydia?” he asks.

She’s curled up, legs splayed to one side and hunched in on herself. She is staring into the distance in confusion, not really taking anything in.

“Lydia!” Allison arrives and Lydia jerks up, eyes widening. “What happened?” Allison gasps, hands flying to her mouth.

Lydia shifts just a little bit and Scott can suddenly see why she’s sitting like she is. She is cradling her one arm to her chest, blood staining her dress.

“He bit me,” she whispers, in a daze, “Peter. Peter bit me. Stiles held me down and then he bit me.” She lets out a slightly hysterical laugh, “I’ve just been bitten by a werewolf.”

The sentence is just as condemning as it sounds.


	21. King

"Will she live?"

Stiles trips his way after Peter, because - oh god - he remembers his own bite, the pain and confusion and to think he’d just forced that on Lydia…

But he remembers holding her wrist in his hand, her feeble struggling and moment she gave up. The moment she knew it was inevitable.

That feeling was intoxicating.

"Teenagers are more likely to survive the bite. And Lydia's a very special teenager. You made that easier, thank you Stiles. I do hate for things to get messy." Peter has pulled a damn handkerchief from somewhere and is using it to wipe the odd drops of blood from his hand. He’s wearing a red shirt beneath a black jacket, and if there are any stains on either item of clothing, Stiles can’t see it.

He wonders if Peter chose them for that reason.

“Don’t feel bad,” Peter says, as if he feels Stiles’ churning guilt and confusion. Then again he probably can - he’s had his claws buried in Stiles’ neck. Not just once, but twice. The first time to give Stiles his memories and the second time to…

Well… Stiles isn’t sure on that. He only knows that since: he’s been able to control his senses. That since: he has been able to know what he needs to do to make Peter happy. He knows their plan, their strategy, Peter’s occasional emotion even drifting across to him. It’s a type of pack bond, he thinks, and once he would have gone on an Adderall fused information binge looking up about that.

But now? Now his Adderall doesn’t work and Stiles is focussed on the plan.

Because they have to do this.

Or rather: Peter has to do this. And if Stiles has to follow allow every step of the way then he will.

“If she lives,” Peter adds quietly, “She’ll become a werewolf.”

Because of course Lydia…

“Yeah,” Stiles scoffs, “And once a month, she'll go out of her freaking mind and try to tear me apart.”

“Well, actually, considering that she's a woman - twice a month.”

Stiles glares sideways at Peter. His Alpha ignores him. “Will she be a part of our pack?” he asks.

“If she rejects the bond like Scott - then no. But she can be. She should be.”

And Stiles didn’t want this. He didn’t want any more bitten.

This is Scott’s fault. Scott and Derek could have joined them, could have helped them and then they wouldn’t have needed Peter to bite anyone else to help give them strength. Lydia won’t turn before they’re through, but she’ll still be pack, right up until she says ‘no’.

Stiles tries not to remember how she had already begged him ‘no’.

 

“I can’t find Peter.”

Scott closes his eyes, knowing that things aren’t going according to plan.

Not one bit.

“Scott?” Derek bites out, “You there?”

“Yes.”

“What’s wrong?” Derek’s just as gruff over a phone as he is in real life.

Scott swallows, and glances to where Allison has her arms around Lydia. He wonders where Jackson got off to but now isn’t the time. “Peter bit Lydia.”

He hears the pause the other end of the phone.

He elaborates a little, trying to get across the urgency of the situation, “Peter was here. At the dance. Stiles and Lydia were together and then Peter showed up and then he bit her. Peter and Stiles left together.” God, Scott had never thought he’d be saying that.

Derek breaths into the phone for a few seconds, forgetting his words. Then: “Get out of there. Whatever they’re doing it will be happening now.”

“But…”

“I’ll try and catch a scent. I’ll phone you when I find them.”

“Der--“ a dial tone sounds and Scott turns with frustration to Allison. “He’s gone. And he’s got nothing. I mean… nothing. No plan, no backup, nothing.”

Lydia glances up, still cradling her wrist, “We’ll get them,” she says, voice quiet but like steel. “Him. Peter. You kill Peter, you understand?” she meets Scott’s gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I didn’t want… I’m sorry.” It’s not even his fault, but he still feels guilty. He feels terrible, like he left Lydia as an open target for Peter when he should have been protecting her… “Where were you?” he turns to Allison, “You two were meant to be working together. You were meant to get Stiles with the ketamine. Where were you?”

"I got distracted. I…"

"Where's the ketamine?"

Scott snatches it out of her hand and takes it. She flinches a little, and doesn’t meet his gaze. "Change of plan. I'll get Stiles. You two go and help Derek look for Peter.”

 “Where are you going?” Lydia asks, “You don’t know where they are.”

“The Hale House.”

“What?” Scott turns, and Allison looks nervous, biting her lip.

“They’ll be at the old Hale House,” she whispers.

“How do you know?”

She swallows, “My aunt… Kate will be there. So will they. Just… they’ll be there. Trust me.”

Scott wonders why she hasn’t told him sooner. He wonders what she knows that he doesn’t. He wonders a lot of things in that moment, but there is no time.

So he nods and turns around, sprinting out of the school.

The syringe of tranquiliser is clutched in his hands.

 

Jackson is so drunk. He can feel it going to his head, making him dizzy as he stumbles out of the party.

He’s lost Lydia.

It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does, but watching her walk off with Stilinski… he takes another swig of his flask, but it’s empty.

Anger wells through him. He doesn’t have anything. He doesn’t have his captaincy. He doesn’t have a werewolf bite. He doesn’t have Lydia. He doesn’t even have some cold hard alcohol.

Frustration fuels his movements as he tosses the flask away from him in a hard, brutal throw. There is the crash of a window and Jackson doesn’t even have to look to see whose car he’s hit.

Now he doesn’t even have his fucking Porsche.

Inside people are laughing, having fun. It’s not appealing in the slightest, so he stands there and mopes, kicking at dry leaves that crunch underfoot.

He hears a sound. His head snaps up.

Because the school borders the wood. And in the wood monsters lurk.

He sees the flash of red eyes through the trees.

The alpha. Peter. Whatever his name was, Jackson needed him. Against his better instincts he stumbles forwards, feeling his sluggish limbs respond. He’s not quite drunk enough yet to even think this is a good idea, but he’s just reckless enough to try.

Because those are red eyes through the trees. Those are red eyes and that means a wolf, glowing red eyes so it means an alpha and a bite and Jackson falls to his knees.

“Come on.” He whispers, “Please…”

The red flickers and it’s inconsistent. It flickers and darts this way and that and then draws closer and Jackson can see that they aren’t red eyes at all.

They’re sights. Laser sights on heavy duty assault rifles and Chris Argent frowns down at him over one. “Jackson. It’s dangerous for you to be out here. But I think you might be able to help us.”

“How?” he whispers, and Chris smiles. It’s not a nice smile, and Jackson regrets not running the moment the hunter kneels in front of him.

“I don’t think you’re one of them, Jackson. But I think you want to be, don’t you?”

He can’t say anything. His throat has closed up.

“And I think you know who it is we’re looking for.”

Jackson should blurt out the names right there and then. He should tell them everything, but instead he grits his teeth. “Why?” he demands instead, “Why should I tell you anything? Are you going to shoot me?” and he’s terrified, yes, but this isn’t a scary as a blue-eyed werewolf with claws at his neck, so he keeps going, “Allison… Allison wouldn’t be happy… if she found out… that you shot me. We’re friends, see… she’d find out and…”

“What Allison doesn’t know,” Chris shifts his weight a little bit, “Doesn’t hurt her.”

And Jackson laughs.

“What is it?” Chris frowns, “Jackson?”

"Allison?" Jackson is still laughing. He’s still gasping for breath, "Allison _knows_. But you really think she's going to tell you about her boyfriend just so you can shoot him?"

"Scott? Scott's a werewolf?"

" _Stiles_ and _Scott_." Jackson nods, "They both got bitten and now Stilinski is following an insane psychopath while Scott and Derek are trying to kill the guy."

Chris stands, and he pulls Jackson to his feet with him. Jackson is worried suddenly. He’s said too much, he’s betrayed them all but how can nobody see that it’s just so goddamn funny and they’re all hunting each other and hiding secrets and nobody is even talking to each other and…

“What are you gonna do?” Jackson asks, panic in his voice as Chris begins dragging him back to the school. “Are you going to hurt them?”

“Of course not,” Chris reassures him, “Not if they’re innocent.”

And this time Jackson keeps his mouth shut. He knows that this time if he talks then someone might end up dead, if they haven’t already.

“Go back to the dance, Jackson.” Chris lets go of his arm, patting him reassuringly. “Go be a normal teenager.”

“What are you going to go?”

“I’m going to find Scott McCall. Luckily I know where he should be.” Chris is looking up at the school, and so Jackson stumbles away. Back up the steps and through the door and straight into the person running out.

He thinks the hunters have no idea where Scott is, because Scott is standing in front of him. “Don’t go out there,” he spits out, stopping Scott from moving out of the door, “There are hunters out there.”

“Dude, thanks,” Scott looks flustered and in a panic.

“What is it?” he asks McCall.

“What is what?” Scott snaps, defensive suddenly, “Where the hell have you been? Peter bit Lydia. I’ve got to find Stiles… I… look I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

He’s off and running before the words even register.

Jackson will always regret that his first thought is that ‘she received the bite before I did’. But then his second thought is ‘oh god lydia’ and he’s moving before he even realises it.

“Lydia…” is the first word out of his mouth and he hasn’t even seen her yet, he’s searching the shadowy entrance and spotting only Allison who looks up, eyes wide. “Is Lydia…”

A smaller shape moves into view. “I’m alive--“ Lydia starts to say, but Jackson throws his arms around her.

“Thank god,” he whispers, “Scott said…”

“Jackson?” Lydia pulls away, “What happened?”

“I was in the woods and there were hunters and then Scott said you were bitten and--“

“Wait…” Allison tugs him backwards, turning him to face her, “Hunters?” she repeats sharply, “Do you mean my dad? What did you tell him?”

“I didn’t--“

“Allison!”

The three of them freeze, because Chris Argent himself is standing in the doorway, glaring at them. Allison freezes and pales, throat convulsing as she panics.

“Change of plan,” Lydia whispers, lips barely moving, “Allison, will you be okay?”

Allison takes a while to answer, “I’ll be fine,” she whispers.

Jackson can’t hear heartbeats but he knows that’s a lie. “Do you want me to do anything? Anything to help?”

“I think you’ve done enough. Thank you.” Allison’s voice is icy.

“Meet up with us,” Lydia whispers, “Hale House. I’ll go with Jackson.”

“Will you be okay?”

“I’ll be fine. Go. Go, before your dad comes over here and sees my brand new werewolf bite.”

And Allison is going and stumbling and staring with wide eyes at her dad who just turns and stalks out.

Jackson feels a little bit like he’s just sent a sheep for slaughter, and Allison casts one hapless look back at him, and then turns and follows after her dad.

They vanish into the dark together.

 

“What do you know?”

Chris paces in front of her, angry and radiating disappointment. “What do you know?”

“Why?” Allison spits, “So you can shoot them?” she glares at her father.

Behind her Kate steps forwards, resting on hand on her shoulder. Allison leans away as far as she can without falling off the couch. “Sweetie, we just want to…”

Chris doesn’t let Kate finish, interrupting her. “Don’t push things, Kate. You told her.”

“I found out,” Allison snaps, “What with the broken car window, the wolfsbane bullet, the monster trying to kill us and stories about le Bête… I’m not an idiot! I can put things together!” she glares between her aunt and father. “When were you going to tell me?”

“Allison…”

“ _When_ were you going to tell me?”

“When you were older. When you were ready to handle the responsibility…”

Allison focusses on the wall, fighting back tears of frustration. She’s not weak. She’s sat beside Scott during a full moon. She’s been running around with wolves trying to fix everything… “You don’t understand,” she whispers, “You’re just making things worse…”

“No,” Chris sits on the sofa, his face swimming into view, “Allison, I’m sorry we didn’t tell you, but we wanted to protect you. From this. From the truth. There is an alpha werewolf running around killing people.”

“At random.” Kate interjects, leaning forwards.

“No,” Allison shakes her head, and that’s not what is surprising, what is surprising is that her dad says it too. “Not random,” she whispers, and he stares at her. “Every murder is connected to the Hale fire.” She glances at Kate who suddenly looks pale, “Peter’s not killing at random.” Allison turns back to her dad. “He says he’s killing only the responsible ones.”

“Peter? Peter _Hale?_ The catatonic one?”

“Not so much,” Allison sneers.

“You spoke to him,” Chris reaches out to squeeze her hand but she pulls away, “Allison, do you know how dangerous that is?”

“Yes.” She nods, swallowing down any fear she has and jutting out her chin, “But aren’t I lucky my family has given me all the training necessary to know how to defend myself.”

That stings. She hates making her dad flinch like that, but then his expression closes off. “You may have the training but you don’t have the experience. Which is why we’re getting you out of here. Tonight. Go. Get your things. Kate is taking you out of town within the hour.”

 

Her bedroom door closes and Allison moves straight for the bed, sliding out a duffle filled with wolfsbane bullets, a gun, her crossbow, recurve bow, arrows and various other weapons.

Someone knocks on the door.

Allison freezes, and winces slightly when two knives clink together.

“Allison?” her mother calls, “Do you need help?”

“No,” she says, feeling faint, “No, I need to do this alone.”

“Don’t be long,” her mother sighs, and then there are the sounds of footsteps.

Allison relaxes, and she leaves the weapons in a pile on the bed, reaching around to strip off her dress. Her cupboard door is yanked open as she searches for clothes: jeans, a dark hooded jacket and thick sturdy shoes. As amazing as she might look shooting werewolves in that dress, it’s just not practical.

She’s just pulled on the jeans when her window clicks open. She lunges for her weapons, and just raises the crossbow in time to see Derek Hale tumble through her window.

“Seriously?” she whispers, hissing, “Stop doing that!”

Derek scrambles up, wide-eyed, “Trust me, I’d love to,” he glares at her, then looks away. Allison lowers the crossbow and realises abruptly that she’s only wearing a bra and jeans. Too angry to feel embarrasses, she grabs her top and shirt.

“What are you doing here?” she whispers furiously as she gets dressed. “Where’s Peter?”

“I don’t know.”

“I sent Scott up to the Hale House to get Stiles.” She grabs her phone, noting the missed call from Jackson, “We should meet him there.” She glances up at Derek, “How’s the bullet wound?” she asks cautiously.

Derek winces, “Better,” he grunts, “But I still don’t like having to…”

“Go to an Argent for help? Yeah, yeah,” Allison rolls her eyes, “But I have the stock of wolfsbane and you don’t.” she slips everything back into the duffle bag. “Thanks for showing up. For whatever reason you’re here.”

“Jackson and Lydia phoned.” Derek winces a little, “They said you were with your family. That’s not safe. Not if Peter is going after them.”

“After my aunt, you mean?”

Allison meets Derek’s gaze, and he nods.

“I know what she did,” her voice is hoarse, “I’m not like her.”

And for a moment Derek doesn’t answer her. Then: “I know you’re not. You love Scott too much.”

It’s the truth, and it hurts just a little bit. But the truth always does, doesn’t it? Allison loves Scott enough to be sneaking out of her house with a strange werewolf, defying her parent’s orders.

“Yes,” she admits, “I do. Now can we get moving?”

Derek slides the window open as Allison shoulders the duffel bag. “I’ll throw this down to you,” she says, then chuckles a little bit, “If my parents knew I was sneaking out of my bedroom window with a wanted werewolf instead of climbing into the car and being shipped away to whatever safe place they want to stash me… well…” Allison debates it for a moment, “I don’t know what they’d do.”

“They’d probably shoot me without question.” Derek grunts, “Come on. My car is just around here.”

When Victoria opens the bedroom door ten minutes later, it is to find the window wide and the room empty.

 

“So what now?” Stiles asks, as Peter’s car pulls up near the back of the Hale House. “Is Kate just going to turn up or…?”

“She’ll show,” Peter promises.

“How do you know?”

“Because Derek’s there.” Peter glances at him, “You said he’d be there. He will be there, right?”

“Yes,” Stiles nods, because that’s what he and Allison had planned between them. They were to get everyone to the Hale House. Kate and Peter and Derek and then let them have at it.

Stiles doesn’t like that plan. His heart jumps a little because he knows Allison won’t be content to leave it either.

Peter narrows his gaze at the beta, hearing the spike in Stiles’ heart beat, “You better not be lying to me, Stiles.” He growls softly. Stiles ducks his head and whines involuntary. A full out wolf-like whine.

“I’m not,” he shakes his head, “Why would I lie to you?”

“That’s a good question. Because at the moment you’re working to save Scott and your dad, remember that?”

Stiles just nods.

“Wolves hunt in packs.” Peter climbs out his car. Stiles follows, slamming his door closed as Peter locks it, beginning to stride out into the woods towards the Hale Place. “Do you know why?”

“Strength in numbers.” Stiles answers, “Their favourite prey is too large to be brought down by one wolf alone.”

“Good boy.” Peter nods, “Which means there is little chance Derek will be there alone.”

Stiles stops suddenly, several paces behind him. “I don’t understand…”

Peter sighs, “Don’t play dumb,” he scolds, as if Stiles is a cub who has done something wrong, “Do you really think Derek is going to meet me on his own? No, of course not. He’ll have Scott in tow.”

Stiles doesn’t answer his Alpha, trying to work out what he means… what he wants…

“Keep Scott away,” Peter growls out softly, “I can deal with Derek and Kate alone. But Scott’s unpredictable. He’s got ridiculous morality and is liable to do stupid things. Keep him occupied.”

Peter steps away and Stiles blurts out, “What do you mean… ‘keep him occupied’?”

His Alpha pauses, and Stiles trembles slightly when he glances around. His eyes are glowing red and his teeth have curled into fangs. “I mean,” Peter’s voice is still smooth, but there is just that little bit of rabidity in his tone, “Keep him occupied. Keep him busy. Incapacitate him if you have to.” Stiles’ heart races and Peter reaches out, dropping one hand on Stiles’ shoulder like a solid, reassuring anchor.

It shouldn’t feel as good as it does.

“You’re every bit as powerful as him,” Peter whispers, “You no longer have to stand at his side. You don’t have to listen to him complain and whine about being a werewolf, when his life is as perfect as it is. You don’t have to stand and watch him become more popular, watching him get the girl.” Peter tilts his head, “I don’t care what you have to do, Stiles, but keep Scott away from the Hale House.”

“Okay,” Stiles nods, and the hand slips away. He feels dazed, and he can almost feel Peter’s emotions and thoughts pressing down on his head.

He shakes it away, and closes his eyes, listening to Peter move away through the trees. He counts his breaths. He just has to keep Scott busy. Keep Scott away, keep him _safe_.

Stiles can do that. No problem.

 

Lydia rubs at her arms, and thinks at least she had the sense to bring a change of clothes. She’s out of that dress and in a skirt and top, a scarf on and a jacket wrapped around her shoulders. Jackson hadn’t bothered to change, but then again he’s rich with lots of money and could probably afford a new suit if this one got ruined.

The driveway to the Hale House is quiet, eerily so. She’s not a werewolf, but she still hears the car pulling up before she sees it.

The black Camaro slides into place and parks. Allison and Derek appear, both looking stony and determined.

“Are you sure about this?” Allison is asking Derek, “He’s your uncle…?” she pulls out a bag, rummaging around and retrieving a compound bow and some knives. She slings the bow onto her back and slides the knives into sheaths on her arms.

“He killed Laura,” Derek says, “He killed that deer and then his nurse sent a picture to my sister to lure her back here. He killed Laura not because of an accident, but because of his vendetta, and that needs to stop.”

“You guys okay?” Allison’s gaze lingers on Lydia, and the strawberry blonde tries to ignore the way her wrist is wrapped up in a swathe of bandages.

“Yes,” she says, arching her neck, “We’re ready. Peter’s expecting Derek and Scott. But just because we’re human…” she falters slightly, because she’s not anymore, is she? “Just because we’re human doesn’t mean we’re going to let this slide.”

“That’s very touching,” Derek growls, “Can we go now?”

“Yeah,” Allison nods, starting through the trees, “Let’s just get …” she falters, and Derek spins around, looking back down the road.

Lydia can hear it easily. There’s another car approaching.

Almost in response a howl rings out in the woods. It’s coming from the Hale House.

“I can’t…” Allison is backing away, “If that’s my dad…. You have to keep my dad away. You have to keep him away!” she shakes her head violently.

“You go,” Lydia is surprised to hear the words out of Jackson’s mouth, “You two - go!” he jabs a finger at Allison and Derek, “We’ll distract them.”

“We’ll what?”

“Yeah, okay,” Allison just nods, spinning around and sprinting off into the trees. Derek eyes them for a moment.

“Thanks,” he nods, and then follows after the hunter’s girl.

Lydia sighs, holding her bitten arm close to her and braces herself as the lights of a car round the corner.

 

“Mr Argent.”

“Lydia. It’s dangerous to be out in the woods at night. Jackson and I have already spoken about this. I’d thought he’d learnt better.”

Lydia smiles, holding herself up tall, “Well we’re not really the threat here, are we? Unless you think you need to eliminate us.”

Chris’ face twists, “God no. Lydia, just tell me where I can find Allison. I need to get her out of this. She’s dealing with things she doesn’t understand.”

Lydia tilts her head to one side, “I think she understands everything quite fine.” She remarks, calmly. “She’s got enough knowledge to make her own decisions.”

“Where is she?”

“I. Don’t. Know.” Lydia snaps. She glances at Jackson. He swallows and hesitates just a moment too long. “Oh for the love of god,” Lydia rolls her eyes, “We’re not telling you,” she turns back to Chris. “Even if we did know.”

“Where’s Scott, then?”

“I. Don’t. Know.”

Chris grits his teeth, “Lydia. I don’t want to have to do this but I’m only going to ask one last time. Tell me where Scott McCall is.”

“Let me think about it,” Lydia pretends to consider the question, “No.”

Jackson shifts uneasily, “We don’t know,” he adds in, voice low, “Okay? We don’t know. He left after the dance.”

Chris sighs, “Jackson, let me ask you a question. Have you ever seen a rabid dog?”

Lydia wonders how the hell Chris knows straight where to find their weak spot. Because Jackson flinches and Chris smiles.

“Because I have. And the only thing I've ever been able to compare it to is seeing a friend of mine turn on a full moon. Do you wanna know what happened?”

Lydia steps forwards, “No. No offense to your story telling skills.”

Argent ignores her, still looking at Jackson. “He tried to kill me, and I was forced to put a bullet in his head. The whole while that he lay there dying, he was still trying to claw his way toward me, still trying to kill me, like it was the most important thing he could do with his last breath. Can you imagine that ? No. And it sounds like you need to be a little bit more selective about who you trust.”

“What are you saying?” Jackson swallows

“Did Scott try to kill you on the full moon?”

Lydia bites her lip, remembering slamming against the locker and only praying that Scott would be deterred from ripping them all apart…

“Did you have to lock him up?” Chris presses.

“Yes,” Lydia says, “We chained him up and Allison stayed by his side the entire night. I bet you hate that thought.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“She’s not,” Jackson confirms, “Allison stayed with Scott the whole night.”

Chris looks pale and slightly sick.

“I’m sorry,” Lydia snaps, “Does that thought make you uncomfortable? Would you have preferred she left him there and let the house burn down around him?”

“I hate to dispel a popular rumour, but we never did that.”

“It’s funny how everyone seems to think that you did.”

“Laura and Derek fled after the fire and they blamed it on us.”

Lydia feels her smirk grown thin, “Rumours tend to be based in fact,” she murmurs, because something had occurred to her and why hasn’t she seen this before? Why hasn’t she--

Allison knew. Allison knew the moment she saw that damn necklace.

“He knows.” Lydia says, and Chris frowns at her.

“Who?” Jackson glances sideways at her, “Peter?”

“He knows,” she repeats, “All the murders so far have been connected to the Hale house fire. And who is he going after now?”

“Us,” Chris grits his teeth, “That’s why I need you to tell me where Allison…”

“Wrong,” Lydia says, flipping her hair out of her face, “Wrong. Peter’s not here, is he? And who else isn’t here with us? You came alone, so who else isn’t here but should be?”

The hunter is silent, face pale. Jackson lets out a gasp of surprise.

“Your sister.” And Lydia says the final words, thinking that after all this Stiles might have been right. She’d make a brilliant wolf.

The fact that Chris isn’t even surprised confirms her suspicions.

 

Stiles’ feet pound on the forest floor and he can feel the moon beating through him. It’s not even full, but what little light filters through the clouds gives him strength.

He runs faster.

He’s in control, and Stiles has never been the most graceful of people, but right now? Hyped up on blood and power and Peter and he’s avoided trees thus far. The leaves are slippery though and the ground dips unexpectedly. He flails his arms, managing to stay upright as he slides down the bank.

He pauses, getting his bearings and breathing heavily. He can hear the whole forest, and even though he could drown it out, he listens, past the beat of his own heart to the sound of another, rapidly approaching.

It’s Scott. Stiles recognises the heartbeat. The scent too, and it’s almost appropriate, he thinks, as he pulls himself out of the ditch, because this looks like the place they were first bitten.

He’s so busy musing at that, taking in the place where Laura Hale’s body must have been, the place Stiles had slipped and hurt his ankle, the cracked branch that Scott fell into when Peter lunged at him first.

Scott might have been the first bitten, but Stiles was the one who had stayed.

He doesn’t notice how quickly Scott’s approached, the heart beat growing louder until it’s right on top of him. He turns, spotting gold eyes and then Scott’s tackling him, knocking him backwards.

It takes the breath out him, and Scott swipes down, not with claws, but with some weapon. Stiles can’t see, but he grabs the arm, stopping the weapon inches from his shoulder. His eyes widen as he sees the needle, and he glances up to see Scott desperately struggling.

Stiles kicks out, trying to get Scott off him. His friend rolls off, and Stiles slips out from underneath, clambering to his feet and rounding on Scott.

Scott is slower to climb to his feet, as if he’s readying himself for another charge.

“What are you doing, Scott?” Stiles stares wide-eyed and he feels almost betrayed by the syringe in his best friend’s hand.

“You went after Lydia, Stiles. _Lydia_.” Scott swallows, examining him as he would a stranger. “The girl you’ve been in love with since you were in third grade. If you let Peter sink his fangs into her then… who's next? Allison?”

“It's always about Allison isn't it?” Stiles sneers, because of course it’s not about him. Peter’s right. Stiles is nothing to Scott. Not really. Stiles is the one who stands on the side lines, while his own problems get thrown under the bus.

“He’s going after Allison and her family. He’s going to kill them.” Scott emphasises, brown eyes like a puppy.

Stiles swallows. He’s not important to Scott. Not really.

But Peter _needs_ him…

 “Don’t worry,” Stiles curls his lip, “If you beg nicely he might leave Allison just for you.” his words are bitter and Scott flinches slightly.

“Stiles, please. Don’t do this. Don’t fight me.” Stiles clenches his jaw and Scott tries again, “You’re killing people! He’s going to kill again - you honestly think it’s going to stop here? He’s going to kill Allison and he’s not going to stop.”

“Allison, Allison, Allison,” Stiles drawls, “I swear that’s all I hear out of your mouth! Because you… what? _Love_ her?” he scoffs.

“Yes.”

“You’re not in love - _Scott_! We’re _sixteen_! We’re teenagers! We shouldn’t be having to deal with any of this shit! But who gave us a choice, huh?”

“You’re the one who dragged us into the woods looking for a dead body!” Scott snaps, and it’s quick and reflexive and Stiles winces, because yeah, that hurt.

“So it’s my fault?” he asks, gesturing at himself, “You blame me for your little hunter girlfriend? For letting first Lydia, then Jackson, and then Allison find out about us? And now? Now her aunt knows. Her sociopathic _bitch_ aunt is going to shoot us. She’s going to kill us, Scott, and if she can’t get us, she’ll go after my dad. She’ll go after Melissa. Don’t you _get_ that?”

“I’m not prepared to kill, Stiles.” Scott shakes his head, “I’m not going to follow Peter for something I don’t believe in.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

“Neither do you. But we’ve made our choices.”

Stiles uncurls his fist and his claws extend. “I guess we have.”

 

“Wait.”

Allison freezes suddenly, and Derek overtakes her for a few steps before spinning around, eyes wide. “What is it?” he asks, impatiently, “We need to go! Now! Before the hunters get here!”

“No…” Allison whispers, head turning, “I heard something.”

“Allison, I’m a werewolf, and I didn’t hear anything.”

But she hears it again, “No, that’s Scott. It’s Scott!” she takes off, and Derek watches open-mouthed as she leaves him there.

“Allison!” Derek calls, and he moves forwards, “Hey, wait up!” he opens his mouth to call again, but he’s glad he didn’t when another voice echoes in the woods.

“Derek Hale. Didn’t anybody tell little wolves not to go into the woods alone?” Kate Argent smirks at him from over her gun, “There could be hunters about.”

 

Stiles makes it a priority to get rid of whatever is in the syringe. He has no clue and it could be anything from tranquiliser to wolfsbane.

He hopes it’s not the latter. He hopes Scott wasn’t going to _poison_ him--

Scott wrenches his hand free, the one holding the syringe. He stabs it forwards and Stiles spins away from the jab. Scott’s overbalanced himself, and Stiles moves. Peter didn’t let him go about defenceless, and he knows how to fight. Better than Scott can from the looks of it, and in one twist Scott is dropping the syringe.

“No!” he lunges for it and Stiles kicks it aside. It tumbles over and smashes into something. Stiles hears the sound of breaking glass and relaxes slightly, because that’s one danger gone.

It was a mistake to let his guard down though, because with a snarl Scott throws himself back at Sriles. He’s fully shifted now - gold eyes and side burns and everything. “Why the hell…” Scott seems to have forgotten he’s a werewolf though as he punches Stiles in the jaw, “Why the hell are you following him? Do you _like_ it? Do you actually like killing people?” there is a sob in his voice.

Stiles ignores it. He twists, knocking Scott off him. “I have his memories,” he says, swiping out with a clawed hand to get Scott to back off a little bit, “He gave me his memories. Of the fire. The night he burnt. I know what he felt like. Every single emotion and thought and god - it’s enough to drive anyone insane. But I can understand why he’s doing this.”

“I can’t.” Scott says, “He’s a psychopath.”

“And what are you going to do?” Stiles laughs, “Kill him? Who will make a better alpha, Scott? You or Derek?” he shrugs, “In the end the pair of you are just as power hungry as Peter.”

Scott lashes out, and Stiles ducks under the claws swiping thin air. He’s not expecting the second swipe and claws lodge in his chest. Stiles chokes.

“I’m nothing like him,” Scott growls, curling his claws in. His eyes flare gold and he blinks at Stiles.

Then, seeming to realise what he’s doing, his eyes fade to brown and he gasps. With a sorry sounding noise he tugs his claws free. “God… _Stiles_ … I’m sorry… I’m _sorry_ …” Stiles doesn’t wait for him to finish his apology.

He has to take Scott down. Keep him occupied, his Alpha said.

He kicks out at Scott’s legs, and it’s not quite hobbling his prey but Scott falls all the same. He’s moving at the same time, using his weight to make sure that when Scott falls, he slams into the ground, knocking the wind out of him.

Stiles can already feel the claw marks healing across his chest. Scott scrambles up, fingers pushing at Stiles to get him off and Stiles grabs his friend’s arms, pinning them down. He grips one tighter than he should and hears something break, but doesn’t care.

"If you're not with us, you're against us," Stiles pins Scott down, claws curling into his friend's wrist.

"Stiles," Scott appears to want to fight, but he doesn't want to hurt Stiles. He physically _can’t_ hurt Stiles. "Stiles, I need to go… Derek…"

Stiles just sighs, "That was a perfect time for you to quote Star Wars, right there, but you haven't even watched it yet, have you?"

"Stiles… please…"

"Don’t worry. Peter and Kate and Derek are all going to have a nice conversation and then it will be okay. Peter’s getting Kate and… well..." Stiles examines Scott critically, before letting go of Scott's wrists in favour of sinking his claws into Scott's chest, just below his ribs and twisting. Scott gasps out at the pain. "And I'm getting you."


	22. Brother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene with Scott and Stiles at the start is directly inspired by this picture: [When you wake up, it’ll be okay](http://shadow-of-the-eclipse.tumblr.com/post/90558488721/hydrae-when-you-wake-up-itll-be-okay)
> 
> This is the last main chapter. The next chapter is a short epilogue that I'll post tomorrow.

"He wants to kill…" Scott doesn't finish the sentence, choking on pain.

"I know," Stiles hums, as he takes a moment to explore Scott's insides, "I'll try to keep Allison safe for you. Knowing Peter he might turn her. He'd appreciate the irony. Wouldn't you like that, Scotty? You and Allison as wolves together?"

Scott whines, "No," he chokes, and Stiles' hand in his gut tears something that might be vital. He can feel himself healing already, and it's agonising, to heal and be ripped apart at the same time, "No… Stiles… this isn't you. This isn't…"

"It's okay for you," Stiles' voice is bitter, "You've got your mom, Allison, and with Allison comes that whole entourage." he laughs, "They weren't there at the school that night for me, I'll tell you that. I've… I've only got you and dad.  You're all I've got and I've got to keep you safe. Imagine…" he chokes, "Imagine if you were gone: imagine that. That's how Peter feels, how he felt when Laura and Derek left him."

"You've got us too," Scott tries to reassure his friend, "You've always got me."

"But I don't," Stiles observes sadly, "Not when you're running off with Allison. But now? Now?" and his claws twist and Scott arches up, "Now I've got a pack."

You always had one, Scott wants to say, but Stiles is here to stop him getting to Derek, to Allison, to Peter, and he's doing that. He's doing that just fine, wrist deep in Scott's intestines and ripping him apart to stop the healing. Scott won't die, but he can't fight, he's powerless at Stiles' hands.

"I think I'd do the same," Stiles says, still leaning over Scott. His left hand comes up to cup Scott’s face, his cheek, but the effect is kind of ruined by the blood - Scott’s blood oh god - dripping from his hands.

Scott grabs onto Stiles’ wrist, feeling the beating pulse, but he can’t pull back his shift enough to do anything about it. Not through the blaze of pain.

"If dad died I'd hunt his killer too," Stiles’ face is pensive, brooding, "I'd never considered that before until Peter showed me his memories."

Scott doesn’t know what Stiles is talking about. But Derek had shoved his claws into Jackson’s neck too, and Jackson had complained about nightmares of fire and smoke and…

He wrenches his mind away from that. Scott doesn't agree. He doesn't agree with Peter's method. And once Stiles would have seen that. Once Stiles would have pulled out legal information to get them arrested, once Stiles wouldn't have answered everything with a snarl and a flash of blue eyes.

That was before Peter crept into Stiles' head with whispers and promises and broke Stiles into little pieces. Scott had turned away, got distracted by the hunters and by Allison and when he looked back he no longer recognised his own best friend.

"You have to understand, Scott," Stiles whispers, "I'm doing this for us. It's for all of us. No more hunters. No more threats. We can be strong. We can be pack."

But Scott doesn't want to be pack. He's rejected that bond already and now he does so again, throwing everything Stiles is offering right back at him.

Stiles' eyes flash blue with surprise and he startles, pulling his hands from Scott's chest. His claws and fingers are bloody and once Stiles himself would have been sick or fainted at this much blood. It's a testament to how far buried in his head Peter is that Stiles doesn't even appear to notice.

“You’re already my pack,” Scott chokes out, feeling his chest choke up. “But not…” he coughs up blood, “Not like this. Never like this.”

There is a whistling sound and Stiles’ hand moves up, catching the crossbow shaft inches from his face. His head snaps up, blue eyes flaring and they settle on where Allison stands, crossbow extending with another shaft already in place.

"You really think you can creep up on me?" Stiles laughs, “Hello? Super senses!” he gestures at his ears, before turning back to Scott. "Stay here," Stiles whispers, voice low, "It's safer, okay? But you need to stay here." Looking indecisive, but panicked, Stiles flicks the crossbow bolt around in his hands, and then stabs it down into Scott's chest.

It feels like someone has punched him in the lungs and Scott can't breathe. It's like his asthma all over again as Stiles forces the metal right through.

"Let. Him. Go." Allison snarls. "Now."

Stiles glances up at her, and nods. "Stay," Stiles pats him on one shoulder, twisting the end of the bolt so that Scott can't just pull it out. His claws scrabble at his chest, at Stiles' hands and the arrow and his torn flesh that can't heal with the metal inside him. The weight of Stiles is vanishing, as his friend stands smoothly, stalking towards Allison. "There you are." Stiles is saying to her, "I let him go."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Allison whispers, and she sounds like she wants to rush to Scott's side, but she can't. She has to get out, somewhere safe, somewhere away from Stiles and Peter.

"He'll let you join him," Stiles says, as if that's an answer, "Peter will bite you too if you ask for it. You can be with Scott then. You can be in our pack and he won't kill you. He promised he'd leave you alone."

"Like he promised he'd leave Lydia alone? Like you said she was safe?" Allison scoffs, "He's lying. He's twisted his way into your head."

The blue eyed beta just laughs, "I wish it was that easy." he says, "But I'm the only one of you who seems to realise what might happen if we don't do this now. If we don't end it." he snarls a little bit, and that's when Allison shoots him again.

Stiles snatches it out of the air, but it distracts him enough for Allison to drop the crossbow and dart forwards with a pair of daggers she's pulled from sheaths on her thighs.

She's kind of badass, Scott thinks in a haze of pain and healing. He watches her lash out with her daggers, and for Stiles to flinch back, retaliating with claws.

Then she flips one of the blades, holding it along her arm and sweeping it across. Stiles ducks that, grabbing onto her wrist to try and force her to drop the blade. She lashes out with her other knife, but Stiles catches that one too. Glaring, Allison kicks out and Stiles lets go in startled surprise. The hunter’s girl swipes her one blade across, missing him, but the second one doesn’t miss. The second one stabs straight and true into Stiles’ chest.

Stiles chokes and spits out blood, hand closing over the knife. Scott panics, trying to struggle free, trying to move from where he's still healing in a bloody mess on the floor.

But Allison doesn't need his help. Stiles tugs the blade free and hits out at her with a growl. Allison ducks and throws her weight into him, sending the pair both crashing back.

The snarls worry Scott, because Stiles is so close to just giving into the instinct to rip and shred. He lashes out with his claws and once again Allison shifts to the side, rolling off him and scrambling to her feet. Stiles follows, looking angry and desperate. "I thought you were going to stay away?" he snaps and Allison shakes her head.

"Not when Scott's life is at risk."

Stiles looks frantic, "You put it at risk, by trying to drag him there! Don't you know what your psychotic aunt will do? She'll cut him in half and burn the pieces!"

"Shut up!" Allison hits out furiously, and Stiles moves. He's still got her knife, Scott realises, the knife that is still covered with Stiles' blood. It flashes through the air and Allison gasps out as it sinks into her side.

Scott tries to move forwards, but it feels like he's wading through treacle. He's still holding his guts in, still bleeding out on the forest floor.

"Your aunt," Stiles repeats, "Is a murderer."

Allison grins, "Well I guess you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?" she spits in his face and then stabs out again while Stiles is distracted with twisting both the theoretical knife and the real knife in deeper.

The blade slices through Stiles' right shoulder and Allison moves with the hit, shouldering Stiles backwards until the pair crash into a tree.

Scott shoves himself up, the earth moving and his head spinning but he forces himself to try and get there. He stands, blinking as the world swims and he watches as Allison pulls out another knife from somewhere and slides it through Stiles' other arm.

The blue eyed beta lets out a startled cry as she sinks the blade in, and Allison steps back, looking only saddened as Stiles struggles. He's stuck, and Scott can't work out why, until he steps forwards on shaky legs and sees the two blades. There is one in each arm, and the blades are long and jagged and coated with blood. They're still impaling the wolf's arm, but they're impaling the tree behind him too.

"Don't think this is going to keep me here for long," Stiles is healing quicker than Scott can, and he tugs at one arm, werewolf strength trumping knives and soft wood.

"Long enough," Allison is already backing away and Scott steps backwards, "The wolfsbane won't kill you, but it will make you weak."

Stiles' face falls into shock and then worry, even as his hands scramble for a grip of the blade, trying to tug it free with gritted teeth. He glances up, eyes wide with full blown fear and panic.

"Guess who did their reading?" Allison scoffs.

"No," Stiles gasps out, "Scott, don't, please, don't go there. Stay away. Let Peter finish."

"Let him finish murdering my family you mean?" Allison scoffs. "My dad is up there! This wasn’t meant to happen!"

"It's to keep you safe. They burnt the Hales. They burnt the Hales to the ground, and they'd do the same to us. You can't just run in and try to play hero…"

"I'm not trying to play hero," Scott finally speaks up for himself, staring sadly at where Stiles has given up fighting the blades, has just sunk down, hands splayed out either side like he's been crucified. "I'm just trying to do the right thing."

Scott is the one to grab Allison's arms, tugging her backwards. She turns and breaks into a limp, pressing to her wound, the knife still in. Scott turns last, but it isn't the picture of dejection and panic and worry that Stiles is, hanging there limply. It's the words Scott hears when he's already several steps away.

"I was trying to do the right thing too and look where it got me."

 

“Go ahead.” Kate rests the gun at the crook of his neck, and she cocks the weapon. “Call him.”

They stand outside the Hale house, the ruined wreck of his old home. Derek can smell the smoke and he feels bile at the back of his throat.

“I can’t,” he chokes out, “I’m not his pack.”

“No, but you are his family.” Kate shoves the muzzle of the gun against his warm beating skin. “Now sweetie, do me a favour, because I really don’t want to have to shoot you.”

Derek laughs, “You burned my family alive.” He growls out.

“But the sex was amazing,” Kate mocks, “Now Derek; I’m not going to ask again.”

“Just as well,” someone drawls, and Kate spins around. The gun however doesn’t move from Derek’s neck. “I’m getting tired of hearing you talk,” Peter steps forwards from the forest’s edge, head tilted to one side.

“Oh look,” Kate sneers, “The catatonic invalid. You know I did you a favour, by not killing you while you were in that coma! Now I wish I had.”

“A favour,” Peter glances to the sky, considering it, “Is that what they’re calling it?” his gaze falls on Derek, “Ah, nephew. You’re looking lonely. Were you planning on killing me by your lonesome or did you want Kate here to help take me out? I mean I know you fucked the bitch, but working with her to kill me?” he whistles, “That’s low. Even for you.”

“Scott will be here,” Derek growls out, eyes flashing to Kate but it’s not like it matters. Kate already knows. “Scott will be here right after he takes out Stiles. And you know who’ll be with him? Allison.”

Kate lets out a silent snarl. Peter looks amused, “So,” he drawls out, “I think the question here is will Derek help me take out you?” he points a clawed finger at the huntress, “Or does he want me dead more than you? Because I both think we know the answer to that.”

The huntress freezes, and Derek can still feel the muzzle of the gun against his neck. It wavers, and Derek knows she’s distracted. For a moment he debates Peter’s words.

If he goes for Kate he’s siding with Peter.

If he goes for Peter he’s siding with Kate.

Derek wants neither option but he has little choice.

“Oh for the love of--“ Kate swings her gun around to face Peter, leaving Derek’s neck cold from where the gun had been pressed, “You’re insane,” she sneers at Peter.

“Well I guess you’d know all about that, right?” he actually chuckles a little bit, “While I may be insane, at least I know who my enemy is. Right Derek?”

Derek hates that Peter knows him so well. He hates that Peter doesn’t even look at him to know that his claws are out and he’s lunging for Kate, but he’s wrong. Peter’s wrong, Kate isn’t unprepared, she’s all too prepared as she spins around and pulls the trigger.

 

Allison hears a gunshot and stumbles to a halt. Scott trips next to her and she tugs him to his feet, “Come on,” she whispers, “Come on come on…”

“Who was that?” Scott asks, “Was that your aunt? Or your dad?”

“I don’t know,” Allison hates not knowing. “I don’t know.” She and Scott erupt out of the trees and Kate looks up from where she is staring at Derek’s body over the muzzle of her gun.

“Oh god,” Scott mumbles, “Derek’s dead. Again.”

“Stop it!” Allison cries out, “Kate, stop it! We don’t have to kill them…”

Her aunt is looking from her to Scott with disgust in her eyes, “It’s a shame,” she sighs, “I love those brown eyes…” and she is turning to face Scott.

“Kate.” Her dad’s voice breaks the tension. Allison spins, freezing when she spots Peter lurking on the edge of her vision. Without thinking she draws her compound bow, arrow aimed at where Peter stills, smiling in amusement at her and Scott, then glancing to the hunters.

Kate looks torn between wanting to kill Peter or Scott. “Chris,” she acknowledges, and Allison wonders where Jackson and Lydia are.

A gun cocks.

Allison’s hands would fly to her mouth but she’s still got Peter in her sights. Kate’s got her gun pointed at Scott and Chris has his gun aimed at Kate.

“I know what you did,” Chris says, “Put the gun down.”

“How about everyone puts their guns down…” Peter suggests.

“Shut up!” Scott growls at him.

“Where’s Stiles?” Peter actually looks worried.

“Incapacitated,” Allison spits.

Kate laughs, “Look at how well we’ve trained her,” she looks so proud of Allison that she actually feels sick. “The only thing we never taught her was obedience. But me? I do what I’m told.”

“You murdered innocent people,” Chris’ face is twisted with grief, “We have a code, Kate. Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent.”

“We hunt those who hunt us,” Allison breaths.

“Put the gun down.” Chris begs his sister. Kate doesn’t move. Peter glances at Allison and Allison wonders if he knows what she and Stiles agreed to. She wonders if he knows what she’s thinking.

Her dad is distracted with Kate. Kate is distracted with Scott.

Allison lowers her bow. Next to her Scott frowns and whispers her name, but it’s too late.

Peter moves. One minute he’s there and the next he’s a blur, and Kate is sent flying. Chris spins around, but all that can be seen of the alpha is a black shape moving too fast to be seen.

“No!” Chris takes a step towards Kate, but something crashes into him. He hits the ground with a thump and Allison swears she hears something snap. Then there is a shadow on the porch near where Kate is and she spots Peter, leaning over her aunt.

“No!” Scott bursts out, and Peter flashes red eyes, standing swiftly and moving backwards into the darkness of the Hale House. Scott leaves her side then, moving forwards.

“Scott - don’t!” Allison shouts out, “Scott…!”

“But…” He freezes on the porch, “She’s your aunt…”

She’s a psychopath, Allison wants to say. They both are. It’s raining, and it’s plastering her hair to her face. Scott stares at her, with something like realisation dawning in his eyes. It’s marred with confusion and anguish, and then he turns away as gun shots ring out, bounding the last few steps into the house.

Allison had promised Stiles that she’d keep Scott away. It’s those words that force her after Scott, force her into the house. She doesn’t want to see this. She doesn’t want to see her aunt, Peter’s claws at her neck and her gun lying where Peter had flung it away.

“Oh Kate.” Peter sighs, eyeing Scott and Allison warily, “What can I say? It’s been fun. Your niece is really beautiful, you know? Beautiful and dangerous and you know what? She’ll make a fantastic, brilliant werewolf.”

The cry that is torn from Kate’s throat is a protest and complaint, one of sorrow and panic. She pushes forwards, but all that happens is that she presses the claws further against the pale skin of her throat.

“Maybe if you apologise,” Peter whispers in Kate’s ear, “Maybe I might let her stay human.” Kate chokes something out and Peter shakes her violently, “Say it. Say that you’re sorry for decimating my family. Say that you’re sorry for leaving me burned and broken for six years. SAY IT!”

“I’m sorry,” Kate chokes out, and she locks gazes with Allison.

Peter pulls a face, “That didn’t sound very sincere,” he sighs, and then he rips her throat out.

Allison watches her aunt die, blood splattering across the window and floor and her body tumble to the ground as her last breath escapes her.

Allison watches her aunt die and she thinks that if she's still alive after this she's going to be just as broken as Kate.

 

Scott watches in silence as Peter Hale kills Kate Argent. Next to him Allison has tears in her eyes, but she’s resolute and still. Peter drops Kate to the ground, smiling at the pair of them standing there.

“Changed your mind now, Scott?” Peter asks, then he turns to Allison, “And what about you?” he smiles, “Do you want the bite?”

He’s not going to stop, Allison thinks. Peter’s not going to stop. The alpha’s claws are red and so are his eyes and he bit Stiles and Scott, took Stiles for his own, bit Lydia and soon he’ll have them all. Jackson would offer himself up on a silver platter and Allison knows that she and Scott will fall too, because Peter only has to threaten one and he has the other.

They’ve lost, she thinks. Derek is dead and her dad is knocked out and Kate is dead and…

“Run!” someone growls and then a shape barrels past her with a snarl.

Derek is not dead, she thinks, but she’s turning and running at that point so she’s not really sure.

 

Peter’s trying to shift.

Scott’s not really sure. He waits long enough to make sure Allison is outside and safe, before leaping after Derek. The guy is apparently not dead, and Scott has never been so glad that Derek is hard to kill.

With a snarl Peter knocks first Derek flying and then Scott. It’s like a truck has collided with his chest and he goes flying backwards, back colliding with something that breaks beneath him.

Derek is up first, and again he’s charging forwards. His eyes are blue and his fangs are bared. In a daze Scott wonders what blue eyes mean, and if Derek will tell him if he asks him.

He wonders if Stiles knows.

Derek punches out and Peter dodged with ease. Another claw slashes across and this one Peter used to toss Derek into a desk behind him. Gripping his nephew’s shirt, Peter tugs Derek back up, throwing him around against another wall. He’s distracted with Derek, turned away from Scott so the beta shoves himself off the broken furniture beneath him. He gets splinters in his hands but it’s worth it to be able to wrap his hands around Peter’s neck as he clings to the alpha’s back.

Peter leans forwards, overbalancing Scott. He ends up on the floor, the wind knocked out of him. Scott sees something crashing down on him and his vision blurs as a fist collides with his cheekbone. Then again and again and he sees white stars.

Derek snarls. Scott has no idea how he knows it is Derek, but he’s almost positive Stiles is still stuck in the woods with wolfsbane coated knives in his arms. It makes him wince at the thought.

He left his best friend out there to die.

Again Peter dodges Derek’s swipes, and then calmly and cruelly knocks Derek to his knees. Derek falls heavily, and the alpha kicks away Derek’s legs from under him. Leaning over he grabs hold of Derek, the beta gripping at Peter’s wrists. He’s weak though, weak and Peter just grips tighter.

Scott pushes himself upwards, just in time for Derek to crash into him. He’s winded again and he pushes Derek off him.

Scott freezes when he sees Peter. The man’s face is twisting, his mouth elongating and becoming more wolf like.

More like a monster.

“NO!” Derek snarls, throwing himself at Peter. The convulsive shift stops as Peter is distracted again. With a baring of his teeth he throws Derek aside again, the other beta crashing into a cupboard. He lands heavily and this time he doesn’t rise.

It’s Scott turn again to leap at Peter. This time he’s surprised that Peter moves from the force of his hit, knocking against the wall. Scott punches out, but he’s still weak from the fight with Stiles.

A clawed hand catches his fist. Peter’s eyes blaze red and his face twists again, and Scott falters, just as the other hand lashes out and closes around his throat.

Scott chokes, and the hand tightens. He thinks for a moment that this is how he is going to die, that this is it…

Then Peter tosses him away like a used doll. He flies through the air, crashing through a window and landing outside with leaves pressing to his face. He gasps for breath and looks up, meeting Allison’s gaze where she is crouched over her father.

Inside the burnt-out Hale house, there is a long and dangerous howl.

 

“I can’t believe we just stole a car.”

“Derek won’t mind,” Lydia spins the steering wheel, “It’s for a good cause.” Especially considering that before leaving Argent had enough time to decommission the Porsche. Lydia is still indignant at that fact, but at least they had a back-up car.

A car that she can’t even drive very well.

"Clutch! Use the clutch!"

The car jerks and Jackson just winces, "The cleverest person in the school and you can't drive stick shaft."

“Shut up,” Lydia snaps, “I’m still cleverer than you.” She’s at the end of her wits, and she can’t be blamed for the bad comeback.

“Clutch!” Jackson blurts out as she tries to change gears again, “Goddamn it why can’t I drive?”

“Because.” Lydia finally forces the car into third gear, “You’re holding my Molotov cocktails.”

 

“Dad,” Allison shakes her father’s shoulders desperately. It’s at that point that Scott comes flying through the window and a howl shakes the earth.

She wonders if Stiles can hear it, all the way back where she poisoned him with wolfsbane.

There is a crash and the large black furred monster Allison remembers from the school crashes out, limbs too long and face a grotesque mix between human and monster. It’s eyes gleam red as it stalks over to where Scott has fallen with a growl.

Scott scrambles up, and Allison reaches out for where her compound bow sits, fingers closing around the riser.

The alpha - Peter - snarls. Scott shudders and shoves himself backwards, and the alpha steps forwards.

There is the roar of a car and someone slams the horn. “Hey!” someone calls, and Allison glances up to see Lydia grabbing something from the car. The monstrous black wolf-human hybrid turns.

Lydia throws something.

She should join the lacrosse team, Allison thinks. She’s been helping Jackson practise too often.

But the wolf turns, a clawed hand coming out and catching the small metal jar. Allison struggles to work out what it is that Lydia has thrown. What the hell would do enough damage in a small glass jar.

With a jolt Allison realises what it is, and she grabs an arrow from her quiver.

 

“Shit.” Lydia blinks at the alpha, holding the jar. The other side of the car Jackson freezes because this wasn’t the plan. The beast looks up at her with red eyes, and her arm twinges. Because this is it. This is their alpha now.

“Peter!” Allison calls, and the wolf-human hybrid snarls, looking around, but he’s already too late.

An arrow flies through the air and crashes into the glass jar.

That’s all it takes.

The Molotov cocktail ignites with a whoosh and the alpha roars as his arm is suddenly lit on fire. Jackson has another one in his hand and Lydia grabs it, throwing the second one.

This one crashes into Peter’s body and with a howl the alpha goes up in flames.

 

It takes Stiles longer than he'd like to pull out the knives from his arms. Something on them burns, and he can feel that substance travelling through his blood, burning him up. With a snarl he grabs one of the knives, staggering to his feet. In the distance there are howls and snarls and he can only hope Kate is dead already.

His lip is cut, a long scar that he can run his tongue down and taste blood

There is another nick above his left eye, and another below along with a bruise from where Allison had slammed her elbow into his cheek. The cuts are smooth and clean, made with those deadly knife blades.

And here Stiles had thought Allison was more an archery sort of girl.

He's almost at the Hale House when he feels it. He stands at the tree line and can see the light, but it takes him longer than it should for him to place what's burning.

He thinks it's himself for a moment. The wolfsbane is still burning in his veins and he's burnt before (hasn't he?). But it's not him.

His alpha is howling, and just that sends needles digging into his brain. Stiles needs it to stop, because he can hear Peter's voice, whispering, clinging to him.

He's moving forwards without even realising it when something slams into him, someone small and sweet smelling. Lydia wraps her arms around him, and he half falls into them, half whimpers, trying to pull away. The stench of burning flesh is almost as sharp as gun powder in his nose.

Peter is dying. Peter is dying and Stiles' mind is unravelling, claws out and Lydia flinches away. Stiles falls to his hands and knees on the forest floor, because Peter's gone, Peter's burning, Peter's dying and burning and his eyes are red and he's dying, burning and Stiles can feel it, he's screaming, can feel his Alpha burning and there are screams in his head and Peter's dying, Peter's gone…

(He doesn't care).

He cares only that the world is suddenly back, sound no longer in tune and it's like a radio and he can hear the static. A million different channels playing at the same time and he can no longer tune them out.

Peter is gone and in Stiles' ears, the world screams.

Peter burns.

Stiles burns too.

 

Scott’s not sure if Peter’s even still sane under the wolf and the fire and the howls that ring through his bones. The alpha lashes out at Allison but he gets there first, knocking Peter away. The alpha stumbles, dropping to the ground as the form falls away around him like ash.

The human shape doesn’t stay upright, tumbling to the ground and lying there wheezing. There is movement from the corner of Scott’s eyes and he looks up to see Stiles clawing his way free of Lydia and stumbling forwards.

Scott moves, standing between Stiles and Peter. “Don’t.” he says, growling slightly. Stiles looks terrible, pale and various cuts over his face from Allison’s blade.

“Scott…” Stiles whispers, and his gaze slides past to where Peter is. A shape is crouched over, and it takes Scott longer than it should to realise that it’s Derek. Derek meets Scott’s gaze, and Scott nods sharply.

“No,” Stiles chokes out, moving forwards. Scott grabs hold of him, and compared to earlier Stiles is weak, and it’s easy to stop him, to push him back. "No!" Stiles tries to throw himself forwards, but Scott pins Stiles' arms to his side, his hand encircling the fragile wrists. Stiles struggles weakly, but it’s not use. Derek slices open Peter's throat in a clean arc and Stiles’ intake of breath echoes in Scott’s ears.

Red eyes flash and Derek looks up, "I'm the alpha now."

"No!" Stiles snarls, bucking and twisting for a second longer before he goes limp, boneless in Scott's grip. His eyes flare blue and he chokes, fangs extending.

Chris is standing, and Allison looks relieved as he moves forwards, relatively unscathed. His gun is out, but Allison still stands between Chris and Stiles. Even that though may not deter the hunter. Scott tugs at his friend, "Come on." he mumbles, "Stiles, come on, let's go…"

Stiles is shaking in his arms, and his hands flail free of Scott's grip. He shoves Scott away weakly and steps forwards. For a moment he stands there, taking in the sight of Derek kneeling over Peter’s dead body, and then he falls to his knees as if dizzy.

“Stiles?”

Stiles is gasping for breath, as if it’s all too much. His eyes close and his hands creep up to cover his ears. His claws dig in slightly and blood wells up under his fingers.

"Stiles?" Scott frowns, recognising the signs as Stiles' breathing becomes uneasy. He reaches out, touching Stiles’ shoulder gently. “Stiles?”

Stiles flinches away, scrambling upright to his feet “Don’t touch me,” he chokes out, and his eyes flare blue suddenly. He blinks it away, gaze dropping to the ground, “Don’t… stay away from me. It’s too loud. It’s too freaking loud all over again and god make it stop…” he whimpers.

Scott feels sick suddenly, "Stiles… just focus on me… focus on my voice."

Stiles laughs, but it’s panic-stricken, “I _can’t_.” he says shakily, “There’s too much. Too many heart beats one two three four five six seven hearts here, five down south four miles, three up north, seven south east, three in car on road half a mile out and do you understand now? Can you see?”

“I’m sorry…” Scott whispers.

Derek stands, and Chris shifts to face Derek. "Stiles," Derek doesn't even look at Chris, "Breath. You don't need Peter to control this."

"He kept it out," Stiles bares his fangs, "He kept it silent and you killed him." he looks like he's about to lunge for Derek's throat and Scott grabs Stiles' wrist.

"Breath," he instructs his friend, "Find one sound to focus on. Just one. You just need one."

"What's wrong with him?" Chris asks, frowning. Allison steps up to her dad.

"He's hypersensitive," Derek explains as some sound in the distance makes Stiles flinch and shakes his head, "He hears everything for a wide radius that can probably be measured in miles. And he can't tune any of it out. It's like being thrown into a club with the music on full blast and everyone shouting conversation at each other. The alpha… Peter… he would have been able to limit it somewhat, but now he's dead… Stiles, you need to focus. Find something to anchor your wolf and to anchor your senses on."

Stiles breaks free of Scott's grip with a snarl, "Let go of me," he snaps, eyes flaring blue, "Don't…" he stumbles away, "Don't touch me."

"Stiles… it's over. Peter's dead. Your dad is safe."

Stiles laughs and it borders on hysterical, "Is he? How do I know Argent isn't going to shoot him the moment I turn my back. They say they have a code, but that didn't stop Kate, did it?" he glances at Chris.

"Stiles, please…" Scott begs, "I'll take you home. Your dad is safe. He's fine… He's…"

"Scott…" Allison stares from where she stands with her dad. Nearby Lydia is standing with Jackson in silence. "Are you okay…? After what he did?"

Scott remembers the feel of Stiles' claws in his gut, remembers gleaming fangs and blue eyes. He shakes his head, "I'll take him home," he repeats, "We just killed his alpha… we…"

"I don't need you to take me home," Stiles interrupts suddenly, "I can do it myself." he moves away a few steps, nostrils flaring and eyes out of focus.

"Stiles," Scott tries to argue.

"If you want to shoot me," Stiles ignores Scott, talking instead to Argent, "Do it now. Shoot me right now. But my dad? You don't touch him."

Chris looks grim. "You've killed people." he says, raising his gun to face Stiles, ignoring Allison's gasp. "Murdered."

Stiles acknowledges this with a wry grin, "Yes - I've done horrible, terrible things, but so have a lot of people." his eyes wander to the house where Kate's body lies.

"You murdered people," Chris glares, "Not killed, murdered."

"They deserved it," Stiles' gaze is icy calm. "And you know what?" he asks, "I enjoyed it." he holds out his arms, "So if you're going to shoot, get it over with."

Chris considers Stiles for a moment. Then he lowers his gun. "Go home, Stiles. Try and be a normal teenager. Try not kill anybody else."

"You're going to let me go?" Stiles looks surprised, "Just like that?"

Chris frowns, "I just don't want to have to explain to the Sheriff why his son is dead."

Stiles looks guilty at that, but then it's gone and he's whirling around, limping off.

He doesn't look back.

Scott can't help but think as he watches his best friend go that he had gotten Stiles back.

But it might have cost them their friendship.


	23. Aftermath

"Dad?" Stiles hovers in the doorway, Scott's blood still drying under his nails, "Dad?"

His dad hums, looking up from his desk, the lamp reflecting off his glasses, "I'm a bit busy…" he says, but then he peers at Stiles over his glasses, "Stiles?" he asks, "Are you okay?"

Stiles chokes, sounds still screaming in his ears but they're muted now, better now he's with his father. He tries to find the words, tries to choke them out…

Suddenly he's enveloped in a soft warm embrace. He realises that he had unconsciously stepped forwards, and his dad had stepped to meet him. His eyes are wet and Stiles blinks away tears, confused. "Can I talk to you?" he mumbles into his dad's work shirt.

His father pulls away, just enough to see Stiles' face. "What is this about, Stiles?" he asks gently.

"You remember when you asked if Scott and I had been sneaking through the woods looking for dead bodies?" Stiles asks, as he and his dad sink down onto the sofa, "And I said no? I lied."

His dad's eyes are sad but he sits there and listens as the words come pouring out, frowns a little bit and gets Stiles to repeat some bits, mostly the parts about Peter, and then when Stiles sees the disbelieving look he lets his eyes flash and fangs and claws show.

He doesn't explain what the blue eye colour means. Scott and Lydia and Allison don't know, and neither will his dad. That's for him and him alone to know.

Because Stiles is a monster now, and the blue eyes are just there to serve as a reminder.

He's a murderer now and there is no going back.

 

Sheriff Stilinski watches his son as he pushes the spaghetti around on the plate with his fork, not eating it. He tries to take in everything that has been said, tries to apply everything he knows with everything he’s learned.

It’s just… werewolves.

But he saw Stiles’ eyes glow, he saw the claws and fangs and it…

It just fits. Too well.

He wouldn’t have believed it, he thinks, had Stiles not been in the sleep-deprived shaking mess that he was. But his son was in that mess and he had blurted out a story about wolves and hunters and two boys who wandered into the woods looking for a dead body and never really came out again.

And really, what else what he to believe?

Stiles pushes dinner around on his plate but doesn’t eat it, and the Sheriff watches and waits for a phone call he knows is coming. They’ll find Kate Argent’s body at the Hale House, with a necklace that will place her as the primary suspect for the Hale House fire.

And he’ll show them the pieces. He’ll shows the links to her accomplices who are dead, spin a tale about how she went after them to keep them quiet.

He needs to talk to Chris Argent, he thinks, but he doesn’t know how the other man will react. Stiles seems convinced Argent will shoot him, terrified of the fact, and the way his son had clung to him still scares him.

He’s sixteen, Stilinski thinks. Stiles is sixteen and he had curled up in his dad’s arms and whispered ‘Peter Hale was the one killing people. And I helped him.’

The Sheriff doesn’t know what to think. Not anymore. Now, few things are certain and the world is cold and dark and new.

But one thing is certain - will always be certain.

He’ll protect his son.

 

Allison sits next to Scott on her rooftop. She wants to curl into him, but she’s not sure she has that right.

She let Peter kill her aunt.

She also poisoned his best friend and it scares her, the things she’ll do to protect Scott.

She thinks she and Stiles might be more alike than she first thought.

“Your parents are worried,” Scott whispers to her, “They’re saying that someone will be here in two days.”

She hums, but she has no more idea who her parents are talking about than he does.

“They’re worried about you. About what other people will think, considering that your aunt is the one who will be taking the blame for all this.”

“I don’t care,” Allison makes a decision. She’s made her choices now, and they’ve gotten her here. She’s alive and Scott’s alive and Peter and Kate are dead, so she’s happy. She leans forwards and kisses him.

Because she can have this much at least.

 

The bite marks are red and slightly inflamed. Lydia traces her fingers over them, shivering at the touch. For an animal bite they’re relatively neat, incisions circling in a half moon about her wrist. Outside the moon shines down, and it’s over, she thinks.

It’s finally over.

She wonders what happens now. She wonders whether everything will go back to normal now, or if everything will be different. She thinks about Jackson, about his companionship and the lack of romance there. She thinks about Stiles, a potential equal who had broken her trust but she still inexplicably cared about. She shouldn’t. She should toss him to the curb but all she can remember is the broken look in his eyes as he had stumbled out of the tree line and frozen, looking like he was waking from some sort of horrible nightmare.

He’s as much a victim in this as her, she muses. He and Scott both.

Scott’s with Allison. At least Lydia hopes they are, because if not they’re totally missing out on an opportunity there.

And Lydia? She’s fine, she thinks. And on Monday she’ll put on her make up and go to school as if nothing had happened. She’ll wear a smile and pretend werewolves and other monsters don’t exist, and that Stiles never did anything wrong and that Scott doesn’t have issues with his anger.

She practises that smile now, lifting her chin up. Her fingers catch on the red wounds and she glances down, smile faltering.

They’re neat and perfect bite marks that didn’t even tear. She should almost be grateful to Stiles for that, but somehow she isn’t.

Because she’s been bitten by a werewolf, and the full moon is a week away.

And the bite isn’t healing.

 

“Derek!” Jackson thunders through the ruined house, once the police are gone and Kate’s body is removed. It’s still ruined from the wolf fight earlier, just like there is still a smoking patch in the woods where Peter had fallen.

He wonders what Derek did with his uncle’s body.

“Derek!” he calls again, “Come out! I helped you! I _helped_ you! Now help _me_!”

There is a creak and he turns around to see Derek leaning against the doorway, watching him. It’s obviously a habit of werewolves to be creepy.

“Jackson,” Derek inclines his head.

Jackson doesn’t waste time on pleasantries, stalking up and jabbing a finger at Derek’s chest, “You promised,” he reminds the new alpha werewolf, “You said if I helped you, you could get me what I want.” He falters slightly, and cautiously draws his hand back, “Can you?” he hates how his voice shakes, “Can you…”

“If that’s what you want,” Derek shrugs.

“It is,” he sounds weak and unsure, so he repeats himself, “It is.” This time it’s strong and doesn’t waver.

“Then we’re in agreement,” Derek smiles, flashing fanged teeth.

His eyes blaze red.

 

Stiles curls up under blankets with headphones on, trying to drown out the sounds. After all this he’s back to where he started.

There is a creak and he sits up, thinking it’s his dad home, but it’s not. It’s from a house three doors down. He slumps back against the headboard, letting his head lean back to stare at the ceiling until it’s uncomfortable and there is a crick in his neck.

He won’t sleep. He doesn’t even try. He has no idea what nightmares sleep will bring, but he knows he doesn’t want to find out.

Because his alpha is dead.

Peter is dead.

"Stiles, don't sound so disappointed. Anyone would almost think you were missing me, the way you're going on."

Stiles glances at where a figure leans on the wall in the shadow of his closed window, arms crossed and smirking at him. Stiles swallows and turns his head away.

Because whatever it was Peter did to him… whatever it was Stiles had let happen, had nodded and agreed to and given his consent to… it had messed him up more than the blue eyes.

Peter Hale smirks at him from his position, but Stiles ignores that. He closes his eyes, counts his breathing… he checks his fingers and then glances up again.

There is nobody there. His window is closed and there isn’t even a scent. He sinks back down into his blankets, shivering slightly and feeling phantom claws curl in his neck.

Stiles is losing his mind and he thinks he kind of deserves it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for any comments, kudos or bookmarks! Your support is really appreciated. Give me a two week break or so to have a good go at season 2 and then I'll get it posted up here once I've got it going and enough content to go back to my amazing daily posting routine. (If I don't have anything posted after a month or so, someone message me and get me going, because I do really want to write it!)
> 
> Come drop by [my tumblr](http://shadow-of-the-eclipse.tumblr.com/) and say hi!


End file.
